


The Price of Mercy [Transformers: Prime fanfic]

by ScorchleDragon



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst, Drama, Excitement, Intrigue, Multi, Philosophy, Romance, totally interesting right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 28,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8437957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScorchleDragon/pseuds/ScorchleDragon
Summary: Megatron lives for only one thing, and that is to finally destroy his rival.It is not like he wants things to happen this way.This far into his twisted game, Megatron has no choice.If he strays from his self-fulfilling prophecy now...All will fall to pieces.As close as he is to finally reaching this unobtainable destiny, Megatron must overcome one final challenge.How ironic it is that the only thing standing between the warlord and his success is little more than a mech and the measure of his own mercy...





	1. The First Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> Price of Mercy is my rebound project following a long-running Transformers fanfiction titled Bittersweet Remedy. That was almost a year ago. I'm happy to say that my writing has quite improved since that hilarious attempt, and I have come back to entertain you with this brand new fanfiction (which, peculiarly enough, happens to be centered around the same pairing as that first book. Shocking, isn't it?). The work originated from Wattpad, which will most likely be the source of all my direct updates from here.  
> This book will, most likely, have a lot of dramatic reiterations and adjustments of TFP's season one, as I am about as creative as a pile of dirt when it comes to these things. Nonetheless, I hope you still find it in your spark to enjoy this lovely novel.  
> If you have friends or family members who are not yet involved in the franchise (everyone becomes sucked in to the gaping chasm that is our fandom sometime), I'd suggest offering this to them if they'd like an intellectual description of the show the are about to waste their lives on. But then again, you may leave a horrible impression on these dear souls. Whatever the outcome, I would appreciate it if you shared, as I am as much of a glutton for recognition as any of you.  
> Either way, I hope you find the trivial events of this fanfiction to be moderately amusing in the least.  
> Sincerely,  
> Me

_CLANG._ A thick blanket of evening fog was sliced to flimsy ribbons by the acerbic shriek of metal. The howl of sliding blades pounded whatever tranquility there was left into bits, rounding back once, twice more to make sure the null of evening remained nothing but a whimsical fancy. Megatron knitted his optic ridges together, darting them left and right, lips curled back in an unforgiving sneer; his smoldering optics locked indefinitely with the cold, treacherous glare of his bloodied oppressor. His spark only remained whole through the morbid hope that his battle was finally coming to an end.

Both mechs swung their blades together, so violently it was as if they merged together. Megatron's flew straight above his chest. Optimus' curved around his elbows. One swing took them back again, the agonized screaming of their swords almost tangible in the stale air.

Things had gone by so quickly. Megatron could still see clearly in his hazy mind's eye as he stood at the head of this ledge. Soupy water sucked mercilessly at his pedes as he tread the dampened marsh. The yellow sliver of a newly risen moon highlighted this slice of evening, aligning the chirp of toads with the buzz of dragonflies and the comfortingly familiar hymn of Starscream's engines at his side. For a moment all was right with this alien world, all before it was not. Now Megatron was imprisoned in battle, his only company lost somewhere in the swampy wasteland, the sounds of his struggle painting the simmering gale.

One shall stand indeed, Megatron thought as he pivoted, only to find the ground beneath his heel crumble away. His weight was too great to be sustained by the weak soil and he slid down into the peat below, however still remaining upright. His presence startled more earthen animals out from their dens. Optimus was upon him almost as swiftly as he could reinstate himself. Megatron shouted a long, foul slur in the direction of his enemy, throwing him back and raising his sword.

"Stand down, Megatron," Optimus demanded, as if he were in any position to do so. The Decepticon warlord only cackled.

"And run from the fight I called you for? I would rather die!"

He lunged towards the prime. Even with his best effort he was quickly avoided, spitting the energon from his mouth as the blunted hilt of his enemy's sword slammed into him. The tangy blue liquid filled his maw and spattered his chest, also drenching the posh, polished blue armor of his adversary. Which of it belonged to him and which to Optimus he was uncertain.

"I've been waiting far too long for this," he shouted, striking Optimus and sneering as he staggered backward. "Don't back out on me now, Prime! We fight until one of us is dead!"

Megatron's cannon sprung to life atop his right arm. He locked and loaded, firing at the prime. His deadly machine painted the marsh around them a luminescent violet color. Optimus deflected the projectile effortlessly, deploying his own magnesium fire shooter and blasting his enemy. Once. Twice. The third and final shot bounced harmlessly off his thick, heavy armor. It was little more then a coax. Malice alighted the glow of Megatron's optics as he preyed upon the sight of his weak, pathetic adversary.

The two drew in close yet again. Megatron swung with his cannon arm towards Optimus' helm, just barely missing him. He felt a servo strike his gut and kicked up clumps of soupy muck. He swung once, missing again, granting Optimus the brief misconception that he was in no danger before slamming his fist into the opposer's neck. BAM. Optimus stumbled and fell to the ground, water surging upward where he collapsed. Megatron raised his cannon, smiling balefully as the energized plasma built up inside to a deadly capacity. He pinned his enemy to the ground with one ped. One shot and he was dead. Optimus could not do anything.

"This ends now, Prime!"

When the ring of his voice finally faded, Megatron was sure there was nothing standing between him and victory.

A distant cry tore him from his definite victory.

Megatron knew before he even turned around, by some cosmically predictable form of karma, what had just happened. His optics raced across the swampy marsh to the source of his distraction, between walls of nearby willows and to the pulsating centriole of an active battle. One wrong move was all it took, and the Autobot had Starscream at his mercy, arm hooked around his chest whilst the other jutted a gun's thick, heavy barrel into the back of his helm. He hadn't the time or motivation to stop and think of which Autobot it could possibly be, as everything meshed into a collective mass of grey before his optics. The assailant's gun was locked and loaded. Even if Starscream could wrench himself free, it would be far too late by the time he finally escaped. The Autobot was not in the position to grant him any favors.

Megatron considered shooting Optimus first and turning to finish off the job, but this was beyond impossible. By the time he blasted through the prime's chest, that Autobot would have done the same, blowing Starscream to bits before he could even turn around to counter.  
Megatron's cannon took too long to reload between shots. Either he shoot the prime and live without Starscream's nuisance or loose what could be his only chance of killing the mech.

It shouldn't have taken a second thought. Starscream was troublesome and tiring. He could have easily prospered without the seeker acting as such a needy shackle on his weighted heel.

He could finally be free of both the scourges of his life.

Megatron didn't waste another moment. With reflexes faster than even the most trained optics could track, Megatron aimed his loaded cannon at the preying Autobot, blasting him with all the strength his ammunition could boast. The killing shot from this distance did little more then stun the mech, which was all he needed; Starscream was back on his pedes by the time the Autobot was finished stumbling, firing towards him at will. Megatron knew it was over when Optimus jutted his ped into the warlord's gut, crippling him instantly. The prime was up and gone in a blink.

Megatron could do nothing but crumple over his sore midsection, prompting the Autobots to make their escape. He raised his cannon only just as Starscream chased them to a newly open ground bridge, firing as the portal closed and managing to skim the hanging branches of several nearby trees. Wiping the excess spittle from his dried mouth, Megatron forced himself to his pedes, flicking off clumps of foul-smelling mud and refusing to look down as Starscream ambled towards him.

"How unfortunate," he leered bitterly, scraping the mud from his gauntlets. "Thwarted yet again in your delirious attempts to eradicate the Prime. I never saw it coming."

I gave up my chance to save your life, you ingrate.

Though the face he pulled was dangerous, inwardly, Megatron was relieved that Starscream didn't know the full extent of his loss.

"I'd suggest you hold your glossa if you wouldn't like to serve as a substitute, Starscream."

"Yes, my lord."

Soundwave didn't make them wait for very long and summoned the groundbridge as he was demanded over Comm. Megatron couldn't believe the opportunity he'd just wasted. He'd been trying to rid himself of both those mechs for aeons and to no avail. He could have ended the both of them with one shot!

But perhaps Starscream was still alive for, even when he tried to extinguish the pathetic form, he never truly wanted to in the first place.

Megatron knew in his spark this was true.


	2. Everything Old Is New Again

Like every other, Megatron's failure to extinguish the resilient Prime became a distant memory within the span of hours. Nobody was brave or stupid enough to talk about it to his face, as the majority of them were expendable. Even Starscream, as eager as he was to pull the warlord apart by his seams, let it go as soon as a new goal was set.

Megatron did not let his personal merit show as he thought back to his actions that previous evening. Nobody knew of the things he had thrown away, and he kept it that way.

Nobody, except perhaps Soundwave.

Soundwave sees everything.

It was the next day that Megatron was called to the control center, accompanying the mute Soundwave and a moderately confused and remarkably bored Knockout.

"You asked for me?" Megatron growled coldly.

"Ah... yes, my lord. Soundwave seems to have encountered a strange looking dot thing right here on the radar." He pointed to the mark that was already obvious before him.

Megatron heaved a sigh. "What does that dot represent, Knockout?"

"A stalactite. I mean satellite. Or... no, it appears to be a shuttle."

Soundwave put a digit to the corner of his screen in an expression of frustration.

"The signal appears to be Cybertronian, sir. And the shuttle has been sucked into Earth's gravity within the next... uh... eight days."

Megatron looked to Soundwave for any indication of what Knockout had misinterpreted this time.

"I mean three," the medic corrected before Soundwave lifted his servo.

Since Airachnid, and Wheeljack for the Autobots, there hadn't been any indication that stasis-induced Cybertronian wanderers would ever come to earth again. If it was a Decepticon, they'd be one troop strong. If Autobot, one short.

"I want you to get your mechs on it," Megatron ordered the communications expert, leaving with a flourish. Finally, he could fall back on the promise of some good news. He was able to operate in peace that day.

Apart from his duty to translate Soundwave (he wasn't the first choice, or the second, but he was the only mech at hand with practically nothing to do), Knockout liked to think himself a busy mech. This was a misconception, but the others had given up trying to correct him. Every so often, maybe once a week, he'd end up with a few mechs at the medbay in dire need of assistance. Unbeknownst to the other Decepticons, Breakdown did most of the physical labor in this sector. But as long as Megatron didn't know, Knockout remained a far more valuable asset and could continue along without the constant fear of termination. It wasn't like Breakdown would ever tell a soul of his crime.

Speaking of Breakdown, it was still hard to see the medic's favorite companion without an optic. He'd been a bit sullen for a few days following the incident, but after some rare encouragement from Knockout and a new patch job, the hefty mech was back on his pedes and better than ever.

One thing remained a staple in their existence, however, and Knockout could tell its presence was weighing his partner down to his weary core.

Airachnid.

Nobody liked the spidery glitch. She was unpleasant and made them all uncomfortable. In their spare time, when they were alone and too focused on their work to do anything else, Knockout and Breakdown would go back and forth mocking her. Epigrams considering her abnormal appendages, sarcastic comments about her physical appearance. They did this to hide the fact they were disturbed by, and to some extent, afraid of the femme. It worked well, and after a good laugh (mainly from Breakdown, as Knockout didn't often listen to his partner's jokes) the two could forget about how frequently the femme disquieted them.

That very day, while Knockout and Breakdown were attending to a vehicon patient (Knockout was still unsure of why they kept fixing the expendable units if they broke so easily), Airachnid barged in on their operation uninvited and startled the two of them out of their wits. Knockout wasn't very pleased with this. The two could have been engaged in something quite out of conduct, and the medbay port door remained closed for that reason exactly. She could have asked before she intruded on a business affair.

"What do you want, Airachnid? I'm working here!" Knockout held an inactive machine in his servo and pretended to be busy while Breakdown did most of the actual operation.

"Megatron told me to keep an optic on you two." There was an emphasis to the phrase that Knockout did not like. Breakdown was not offended. Or at least refused to show it.

"He did no such thing," the sturdy mech said. His bright orange faceplate, nicked and scarred after many aeons of aggressive battle, flashed in the light of flying sparks as he worked.

"Perhaps he did not."

Psycho. "What the frag do you want?" Knockout demanded.

"I must say that I personally am appalled by the nature of our staffing. Some of us are getting a great deal more privileges than we have earned, and it pains me to see such an injustice in our workforce." Knockout gave her a quizzically urgent look. "To put it in simpler terms, I have the deep fear that some of our corresponders have been mooching off of unearned wares. Getting more for doing less. And if Megatron learned firsthand of such a thing happening right beneath him, the consequences in question wouldn't be pretty."

It occurred now to the medic, through the accusatory undertone of her frustrated monologue, that it was no coincidence she was targeting him to hear her speech. Breakdown finally raised his glare from the split body before him, pushing the table a good two feet forward before he stood to his full height.

"Thank you for the info. Now listen here, bug. You'd better shut your mouth now before I shut it for you. Capiche?"

Knockout was a bit surprised. He wasn't used to seeing Breakdown so assertive, for he was usually a mech who went solely where the flow took him. He liked it. Airachnid's tight lips formed a scowl.

"And I'd be more careful if I were you, Patchy. Your spark is far too expendable for you to be making such allegations."

"I think you misheard one of us, Airachnid, because his name is BREAKDOWN," Knockout interfered. "And also, unlike your useless aft, we have actual business to attend to. So move along."

The look she sent the both of them was so poisonous they could almost feel its tingle at the tips of their digits. She left wordlessly nonetheless. Heedless to say, Knockout felt strangely satisfied after that little tussle. He operated in silence for a moment longer before his optics drifted to Breakdown's faceplate, the mech's expression one of deep concentration.

"I'm gonna admit, that was pretty cool of you," he drawled on impressively. "Speaking up like that. You definitely intimidated me."

He shrugged and stood back to observe the unconscious vehicon, waiting to see if he stirred. Something was still biting at the soldier's processor.

"I like the patch, by the way. It makes you look handsome."

Blue was like a burst of dawn at the cry of twilight upon orange armor. Even a little flush was visible from miles away on that mech. Knockout smiled and looked back down at his workspace.

Breakdown's affections were no secret to him. Or to anyone. No other mech would waste so much time with the medic and do all this work for him on any other occasion. At first, Knockout only appreciated him for his clear willingness to stick his neck out to uncomfortable lengths to take the blame for Knockout's hilariously painful misadventures. But now... he had to admit to himself sometime that he really did care about the big lug.

"Thanks for standing up for me, too," Breakdown finally worked up the nerve to respond. Knockout let out a loud sigh and leaned over his workbench, not really paying heed to the now deficient status of his Vehicon patient.

"Don't mention it, bud. Hey, would you like to go out for a refuel? I think we deserve a break after all this hard labor."


	3. Keep Your Enemies Closer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we find friends in strange places. Like the North Pole.

The truth?

Megatron adored his dear seeker. From the subtle bounce in his graceful step to the undeniable charm in his strawberry optics, he'd long ago come to the unavoidable conclusion that he had fallen in love.

How can this be?! Sprawled regally atop his glorious throne, Megatron felt his energon begin to boil. The pedestal, climbing up towards the high rise ceiling in all its glory, resembling an icy spire as it lashed, carved straight down the middle to withhold a tiny space fit for the warlord to settle. The throne was his brooding spot, which he found himself using quite often. Starscream is a traitor! His scourge brought nothing to him but tiresome woe!

And yet...

Oh, who was he fooling? He loved the seeker with every inch of his ridden spark. He'd seen perhaps every mech and femme on Cybertron pass before his prosperity, but never before and never again would one captivate him quite the way Starscream did. How he longed to take the seeker in his arms and hold him in affinity! To shelter his beloved for all the eternity that may remain, that was his true desire.

But no. He was not weak! He would never yield to such temptation!

Megatron laid his helm against the backboard of his cold and unforgiving throne, frustration leaking through his heavy vents. He'd chosen his stance long ago. Starscream was a plague to him and all the progress he'd made. Everything he worked for, destroyed by that pathetic glitch and his pleading! When he finally vanquished his foe, Megatron would have all that he wanted at his beck and call. Glory! Riches! All would fall right to him. But... without the seeker, what worth was it? Wealth was but a value, nothing more and nothing less. All the recognition in this world and many more would not bring life to him. Starscream may feel undermined and oppressed below his master's heel, but he knew nothing of how deeply his influence bored and mutilated Megatron's vulnerable spark.

Of all the mechs and femmes in this world, why Starscream?!

Megatron had had enough of this. His brush-in with Prime was the last straw; he had to do something about Starscream. He'd been played for a fool again and again and would not tolerate such disgrace anymore. Whatever came next, he made a promise to himself that he would no longer remain a slave to his dear little Seeker.

\---

The orbiting shuttle drifted nearer and nearer by day. Soundwave kept his optics out for the alien object, calculating its landing time and place, watching human news stations to see if anything arose of it. The Autobots must have gotten the memo as well, for no immediate media outcry surfaced regarding the foreign spacecraft as it entered Earth's atmosphere. Their friendly little observation quickly turned to a deadly race. If unprepared by the exact time and date the wayward craft landed, the Decepticons would miss a highly crucial opportunity. Be it a new troop or valuable prisoner, they'd be far better off with the fresh body than without.

Knockout was their immediate choice to send. If the Cybertronian refugee in question happened to be in critical condition, the Decepticon medic's "knowledge" would be required to assist them. Besides, if he did happen to come across a troop of Autobots during his excavation, Knockout was the most expendable troop at their disposal. Rather than entrust him with a Vehicon escort team of his own, Commander Starscream ordered Breakdown to accompany him. Neither the first lieutenant nor Soundwave thought to inform Knockout of his duty until the day of the shuttle's landing, to minimize the amount of time they'd have to spend bearing through his insufferable contraventions.

When that day did come and all the necessary preemptive deeds had been done, Knockout and Breakdown were sent on their merry way. Of course the shuttle had to crash land somewhere cold. And by cold, the specific circumstances had to mean "crash-landed in the middle of a glacial wall in the North Pole." Knockout felt like his antifreeze had turned to ice by the time they arrived, frozen and barely functioning, to the spot of impact (They'd departed from their groundbridge a few miles from the actual crash site, for Soundwave was not able to get an exact coordinate set of the signal).

"How the frag did it get up there?" Knockout shouted above the hollering cry of bitter icy winds. Breakdown shrugged beside him, approaching the sheer icy surface and beginning his search for a handhold.

"Why couldn't they have picked Starscream for this?" Knockout whined, following his partner arm-in-arm. "This has to be the most inconvenient landing spot I have ever seen!"

Indeed, their setup was quite irrational. Sending two ground-mode mechs to retrieve an elevated object was far from the most intelligent plan, but the higher order had their reasons. A few comforts must be forsaken from time to time.

"How are we going to get up there?" Knockout's deep concerns came to fruition as his partner lifted a ped to the knobbly ice fracture, hoisting his girth up towards the next.

"We climb," he imposed through a grunt.

"No, I mean... how do I get up there?"

After a few pitiful bouts of whining, the malleable Breakdown agreed to let his friend hitch a ride atop his shoulders. Breakdown was very strong, but Knockout wasn't exactly a basket of feathers himself. It took half an hour to scale the sheer slope of 40 feet, which was far longer than it should have; but, in hindsight, the time taken was reduced by half versus what they would have wasted if Knockout tried to climb the cliff separately. Breakdown felt ready to collapse by the time they reached the shuttle's smoking husk and did so quite gladly, dangling precariously over the edge of a jagged fissure, struggling to catch his vents while Knockout hauled his limber self up and over the mech's helm, to assess the damaged pod.

"Looks like it landed door-side in," the medic acknowledged, desperate exasperation lining his sugar-coated glossa. "Give me a boost here, would you?"

The shuttle was perfectly round, smoothed stylishly as to withhold the precious cargo within. Its design was quite outdated, giving the impression this particular vessel had been in use for some time now. He wasn't one for specific models and all that scrap, but Knockout knew for a fact after examining the spacecraft's wares that a Z8-22 like this one would have only really seen use during the final phase of the war's second wave, and had long since become too much of a burden to produce and maintain. This recollection was quite an impressive feat for a mech who could hardly remember the demands made by his leader on a daily basis.

The medic's multi-tool was armed with a precise laser cutter, the likes of which proved crucial for his problem situation. He chipped away gradually at the entombing clutches of the shuttle's icy grave, freeing it piece by tiny piece. With every new opening made Knockout squeezed his broad shoulders further and further into the claustrophobic nightmare scene. He could picture quite clearly in his otherwise numbed processor the images of little icicles hanging from his once spotless treads and let himself weep; the tears of despair froze and clung to his faceplate before they even left his optics, rendering him nearly sightless. This was not good for his cutting pattern and by the time he finally detected the shuttle's entry port, he'd left a rather visible impression on the solid metal surface and had to peel the pod's exoskeleton away like the shell of an egg. Breakdown came to pull him free from the narrow crevice by his waist.

Once the seal portion was removed, the craft fell apart cleanly at its seams, resembling perhaps a budding earthen plant. Inside they found another stasis pod. Like a turducken. Breakdown took the liberty of opening this one, for dear traumatized Knockout was so cold he could hardly move his servos enough to wave.

Blitzwing's slumbering form hadn't seen the light of day for what must have been aeons now. He didn't stir five seconds after the first sliver of outside light bathed his masked face, nor did he even bat an optic when the entire shell of his pod burst apart. It took ten, perhaps twenty seconds after that for his ventilation system to start working again, the stale energon in his systems recalling its abruptly halted circulatory cycle. His optics flickered to life, creating the blurry image of two mechs as they hauled him up to his limp pedes. One was standing over the corpse of his ship, completely disregarding its fractured remains, unceremoniously hauling away his precious spare energon supply. Blitzwing's antennae quivered in frustration. It took a few seconds to remember the specific sequence required to activate his conveniently operable barrel gun. Within the next few moments he'd reversed his position with the mech who woke him, and he stood tall and threateningly, an arm wrapped snugly around Knockout's neck while the other shoved a gun in his mouth.

"Back away from my ship." After generations of remaining unused, Blitzwing's voicebox took on a heavy coat of rust, and his voice now resembled something more akin to a jet engine's roar. Breakdown whirled around, raising his hammer in a challenging stance.

"Let my friend go first."

"Not until you put all that stuff back where it belongs, filthy factionless scum!"

Knockout grabbed fistfuls of the mech's solid armor in his servos, trying fruitlessly to back away from the gun, poised to blow him to bits. Breakdown could tell he was panicking and tried to keep his cool in the presence of imminent threat.

"Calm down, sir. My name is Breakdown. I'm a soldier for the Decepticons. My friend right there is Megatron's medic." He briefly eyed the tarnished purple insignia on Blitzwing's tawny shoulder cuffs. "You've been in stasis for a long time. Don't worry. We're your allies."

Blitzwing narrowed his milky optics suspiciously towards Breakdown, the harsh ridges of his digits digging deep into Knockout's soft cabling. After several long moments spent waiting for a reaction, Blitzwing released the medic and practically shoved him away, his face of solemnity suddenly replaced by one bearing a brilliant smile. That wasn't even meant as a metaphor; the mech's faceplate literally changed. One moment he wore one expression, the next another. Knockout stumbled shakily towards the blue mech, who sheltered him completely behind his width.

"Well, isn't this embarrassing?" It was hard to ignore the escalating hysteria in the strange mech's rolling laughter. He sauntered up towards the prickly Breakdown, who raised his servos threateningly before the hostile subject; only to be dissuaded as the now careless Blitzwing snatched a cube of energon from his balled servo, lapping it up thirstily. The other two Decepticons eyed him as though he were some sort of spectacle, a gruesomely wounded individual perhaps.

"I'm Blitzwing." The ambiguously presented stranger introduced himself quite kindly. His gaze drifted over Knockout for a moment too long, just enough to send a pang of unease coursing through him, and to rekindle that ghost of a touch still lingering over his sore cables. "I do apologize for the outburst. You are?"

"Knockout." He grimaced, the bitter taste of a gun's nozzle still overwhelming his senses. Breakdown reached back and clutched his ice-cold servo, a comforting gesture.

It didn't take the mechs very long to become established with one another and exchange their personal wares. Blitzwing introduced himself to be a rather prominent mercenary, who made his skills available to the highest bidder whenever he may. The Decepticons proved to be a highly rewarding cause, however; and he gave up his status as a hitman-for-hire to dive headfirst into new waters. It turned out Blitzwing quite enjoyed fire. He liked to think of himself as a "coordinated arsonist," but Knockout and Breakdown found it more suitable to refer to him by names like "pyromaniac." None of them could estimate quite how long he'd been in stasis, but any guess at this point had the potential to be a valid one.

They were interrupted soon, however, by the phasing sound of a ground bridge; humming as it preyed upon versatile fabric of the continuum. Breakdown raised his hammer and led the other two without complaint around the glacial compact, catching sight of the Autobots in question.

Two of those nasty scoundrels had been deployed to verify the scene. Breakdown recognized Bulkhead immediately and scowled. Knockout was also unexcited to see the scout, what's-his-name, whom he always felt looked too smug in his sub-par alt mode and pathetic paint job. He greatly enjoyed thinking about the amount of damage they were in for.

Blitzwing did not recognize either mech. They did not carry much distinction in his optics. They might as well be clones. All he cared for was the signal on their chests, and he would stop at nothing until their only lingering memory was the stain of energon, after he crushed them beneath his pedes. Another gun appeared in his arm.

"Stand back," he ordered, to the surprise of the other two. They obliged anyhow.

By then the two Autobots were well alerted of their position, pedes clearing through the ice and snow. Bulkhead readied his mace ball and turned to Bumblebee. "It's the 'Cons," he warned, catching a glimpse of Breakdown's modest blue. Bumblebee whirred several quick phrases and revved his gun.

Blitzwing didn't give them the pleasure of first move.

Climbing out from behind the glacier's rise, he leveled his gun towards the Autobot intruders, uncapping it and pulling the trigger. A massive flame spiraled out from its rapidly quivering nozzle. Knockout and Breakdown shot back as it flew forward, engulfing the crisp icy air, blossoming out and spreading to entomb the entire area in a red-orange mask. The flare was more for display and intimidation than anything, and it did so clearly; Bumblebee and Bulkhead were quite effectively stunned by the magnum display.

Moments later, just a few yards behind, a ground bridge portal opened up for them. Breakdown grabbed Knockout's arm, shouting over the roaring flames. "Blitzwing! Ground bridge's open!" He turned and capped his weapon, racing in-time with the other two Decepticons, quickly stacking a few cubes of energon in his arms before sprinting after them.

The Autobots were left with nothing but a broken ship and singed ice in their wake, slightly glad they hadn't been the first to arrive at the crash site.


	4. Comrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the team, Blitzwing.   
> Hope you make yourself at home.

What Blitzwing received upon his arrival could hardly be considered a formal welcome; Megatron's processor seemed to be anywhere else, and his inauguration barely even lasted for five minutes. He made his best attempts not to come off flippant, hating to disrespect the warlord he was ever so loyal to. From then on out he became Soundwave's duty, and then eventually, shifted in care to Knockout.

Cunning and graciously baleful as he was, Blitzwing never cared to admit that his obliviousness was all a tedious ploy. The mech had understood his place the moment he came, and the workings of the Nemesis were no astonishment to him. But Knockout was fun to antagonize.

He smiled happily at the familiar face, recognizing the medic's unfavorable returned expression. Still now, tensions hadn't quelled between them. Knockout felt much more comfortable when blessed with the defense of his armed protector Breakdown.

Speaking of Breakdown, there he was, tending to Knockout's business and stocking up new supplies. Breakdown was pleasant enough, Blitzwing decided. He did all his work and Knockout's too, in half the time it took the medic to on his own terms. The assistant was so voluntary that Blitzwing came to the impression he only took on extra jobs for an excuse to hang around the medbay. Cute, he thought, but ineffective in the light of war; they were young and naive, he supposed. He'd wait and see if they evened out.

It was impressive how rapidly Megatron's seeker populous had dwindled down to one sole mech, the likes of whom was hardly even qualifiable as one. Even with his elevated pedes, Starscream was still one of the tiniest Decepticons of them. Perhaps in the same vein, he noted, though Starscream's position was high, his reputation was clearly not; the whiny SiC was frequently disrespected and mocked, quite often frowned upon even by Vehicons. Blitzwing could tell he was intelligent. Impulsive, perhaps, and highly self-imposed, but not doltish.

Even with the rumors and mockery that circulated around him, Blitzwing realized almost immediately that Starscream still held some sort of curious authority over mechs. It was a confusing deduction to make. No matter how much they might scoff and demonize him, an unfounded respect for him still remained. After extensive observation, Blitzwing was surprised he hadn't noticed it sooner.

Starscream... was attractive.

This was keeping in mind that most of these mechs hadn't had contact with femmes in the last many aeons (Airachnid was perhaps the only exception, and she, Blitzwing could easily deduce, was not very pleasant and even less of a charm to look at). Starscream was the most feminine thing they had on hand, and in all honesty, had a form comparable to many attractive femmes. If he wasn't so slouched in posture he could have been labeled pretty, or even, if he may use the term, "sexy."

This was not, of course, saying that Blitzwing was in any way attracted to him. Primus no. He hadn't felt a twinge of empathy in him since he was a protoform. This was merely a statistical examination, derived after thoughtful scrutiny. Not every mech felt this confusing attraction to him.

Knockout was a good example. When Blitzwing asked about it (it took two times to get it through the mech's thick helm), the medic replied with a simple scoff. "Honestly... He's a pain in the aft. He's selfish, and he won't shut up." The medic threw his arms up in frustration.

"Pretty much. But... do you find him attractive?"

Knockout looked at him with that familiar you've-lost-your-mind expression, staring him down like he'd lost any shred of respect for him he still had.

"Stilettos?" He laughed, taking it as some sort of joke.

Blitzwing's expression changed to one of plain sobriety. The medic's cackling faltered.

"Honestly, I'm more of a ground-mode type. An automobile enthusiast, if you will." He recycled the human phrase, liking the way it rolled off his glossa. "Besides... Scream is a bit too... I dunno... femme-esque for me."

Ah. So that's his little tick.

Blitzwing repeated this question to multiple mechs, and eventually developed a consensus on the widespread opinions of Starscream. He found that secret admirers were plentiful among the Vehicons, shockingly enough. Airachnid was a pretty definite no. Breakdown was a bit too close-minded to really get a reliable reading from, and Knockout's negative opinion was forthright. Soundwave was as clear as you could get. The communications expert still put Blitzwing off, even after all this time spent in his company; he saw malicious intentions that Megatron missed, and still found paranoia in the way his silent, faceless form always seemed to be watching. There was no emotion of any kind there, save a mutual loathing.

And... what of the Decepticon leader?

In all honesty, that's where Blitzwing was stuck. He spoke like he absolutely hated the mech. Like he despised every moment of his pitiful existence.

And yet...

There were moments when his façade crumbled. When Blitzwing could see the pain in his optics. The kind he didn't let show for anyone. Not once, since Blitzwing could recall, did Megatron show as much thoughtless mercy or favor to any one mech. Maybe he didn't recognize the feeling because he was not accustomed to love, or whatever this conflicting alternative may be.

Or maybe it was how much Starscream absolutely hated his dear warlord that left him confused.


	5. Rock Bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It appears that Starscream's luck has finally run out.

Starscream was repetitively put off by the new recruit. Perhaps it was his favoritism to destruction, or the schizophrenic way he spoke to himself through different faces. He'd seen a fair share of psychos in his lifetime. He came to the conclusion that this general suspicion was going to falter, and the character would fade into the background within days.

If he ever decided to leave him alone.

Wherever he stood, Blitzwing was never far away; he could be at the decks, the door to his own quarters, frag, even the washracks and Blitzwing always seemed to be standing there, hovering like a bird of prey as he surveyed his victim. Apparently, he wasn't alone. Other mechs expressed their distaste to his constant presence, and the general bad vibe he put off.

I mean, the face thing is creepy as Pit. Starscream tried not to look at him as he watched, hidden under the glow of a nearby holo screen. As far as Starscream could tell, he had two; one was intended for the time he was content, and wore an insanely annoying smirk. The other was grim and within moments could become something frightful. Breakdown had warned of a third face, a nightmarish depiction of a mech's tortuous smile, which came up when he fought in battle. Starcream didn't want to be on the receiving end of that one.

He felt the sting of Blitzwing's optics as they bored into his bare, exposed back, and sank a little further into his position by the keyboard. The flickering tabs on his holo didn't register to him and faded to a blur before his milky optics. The seeker hated being surveyed as he worked, examined like a piece of scrap metal being weighted on a conveyor belt: Traveling uselessly across a cold, barren platform, poked and prodded by the workers of a dreary assembly line, fitted into the acceptable shape of function... it was a peeve that plagued him since sparklinghood, and had only worsened in recent years, through the sinister watching eyes of superiors and inferiors alike. Everyone seemed to have their two cents to throw in when it came to Starscream's punishment, but regardless, the seeker refused to recognize that he had only himself to blame.

He felt like he was slipping into an abysmal chasm. Sucked in by the vacuum of his paranoia, trapped beneath the violent confinement of his despair. He was falling, deeper and deeper, into a waiting gape, the flimsy pale of his wings being shredded into ribbons, until there was nothing left but a spark of his former self, a scrap of his final living consciousness to be a staple of the consequence assigned to a miscreant's final act of defiance—

"Starscream!"

The rumble drew him back into a long wince. Blitzwing was replaced by another presence. Megatron's shadow was one you could feel, let alone wallow through, for the tension assigned to it was so thick you could cut through it with a knife. He lifted his helm and stared towards the holo screen with glassy optics, refusing to succumb to his fear.

Megatron snapped indignantly, forcefully tearing Starscream's attention toward him.

"I was hoping you might join me for a moment," he crooned. The rise and fall of his voice sent shivers down Starscream's spine. Megatron spoke with direction, captivating the frightened listener with a variety of subjective highs and lows. Even the gravel in his roar carried clarity and malevolence. Starscream subdued to the command and slipped dejectedly away from his post, raising to meet the glower of his master. His gut tightened and he forced a bow.

The warlord disregarded his respectful curtsy and gestured to him with his servo. Starscream followed the motion intently.

Megatron was used to dragging the seeker around like a pet, which he was most opposed to; but oppression, he assumed, was more bearable then the result of punishment, and he considered the level of mutiny he could escape unscathed with generous enough of a gift. He was the second-in-command of the Decepticons, but the title was about as hollow as Megatron's spark. He was not trusted enough to carry out most formal duties, yet Megatron refused to lower him from his wobbly pedestal. Starscream wondered what in the Pit could be going through his master's thick helm most frequently. Perhaps he had a reason for lashing him to his hip, tightening the choker around his neck, and painting a false target on his chest. Or perhaps he was insane.

Starscream chose not to question when Megatron led him to the flight deck. Perhaps he wanted privacy. Extra privacy. The kind his throne room did not offer, the kind that wasn't subject to awkward interjections and eavesdropping. The landing bay didn't seem much better, but perhaps there was some unseen advantage Starscream was missing?

"Fly with me, Starscream."

Okay, this was a little unexpected. He swallowed his doubt and squinted wide optics against the early morning light as Megatron gestured toward him with one servo. He transformed a few awkward moments after the warlord, keeping his nose angled towards him as he hovered, thrusters pointed downward to avoid scraping his belly on the worn metal platform. They took off in time. While flying was usually a calming exercise, something he loved to utilize to take the edge out of his duties, following Megatron's dips and swerves was unnerving, and left Starscream with a deep-rooted feeling of anxiety.

This wasn't in protocol. None of this was in protocol. What in the Pit could Megatron find so important that it required a departure from the Nemesis? Hopefully it was nothing too extraordinary; a quick survey of a mine, perhaps, or maybe a dark energon run. But Megatron had taken a clear vow of silence, one Starscream knew better than to challenge.

Three. Off the top of his helm, Megatron could name three mines. This was a hearty chunk, nearly a third of the initial sites collected. The reports, he'd duly noted, read that they were empty; hollowed from the top down, veins sucked dry of energon. But extensive monitoring told otherwise. It seemed highly unusual for a mine empty for nearly seven years now to still house numerous types of equipment, which were far more useful in other places. A regular flow of troops to the dead mines was still exchanged. Megatron was not at all surprised by the inarguable conclusion. It seemed like something Starscream would do.

He chose not to visit the mines in Arabia or Nevada, for time's sake. The European locale was far more isolated and much closer to their landing site, which made it rather ideal. They only came across one lonely Fleshie, a hiker well into his climb, and Megatron was quick to dispose of it accordingly. His pedes still stained the ground red when Starscream finally worked up the nerve to speak.

The prominent arches of the European cave loomed perilously overhead. The gape itself intruded on a jagged rock face, carving into the mountainous region's infrastructure. Surrounded by servile pines and rolling hills, the landscape's perimeter was comfortably disguised; these caves had been closed to tourists long ago under the excuse of instability and inaccessibility. This gave their excavations all the more convenience.

Starscream did not recognize the locale upon their arrival as anything more than an abandoned mine. He twined his digits nervously, leaning to the resonating pulse of Megatron's pedsteps, swaying with every thump, thump of his girth. The menacing metronome fell in-time with every second beat of his drum-like spark.

"Lord Megatron."

When he spoke, his ventilation shaft was dry. He gained no reply.

"Forgive me for... questioning your intentions, but... I-I do not understand..."

They succeeded the cave's mouth, hit by their first waves of underground air. Starscream's sensory palette was overrun by the smell of damp rock.

"...Why we've come back here, after all this time..."

He felt Megatron's sideways glare shift to him. Seven years. A lump formed in his throat.

"...A-alone."

The word bounded frivolously down the cavern's corridors. Starscream shivered as perspiration began to drip from his brow, tentatively licking the back mass of his neck cables.

Megatron only grunted.

Starscream had to step carefully to avoid smashing a waiting stalactite, which, from experience, he understood, were quite painful. He could hear the occasional sound of rocks being ground to dust beneath his master's weight and shrunk lower. The rock walls' shadows grew thicker and thicker as the outside light faded.

Starscream felt the claustrophobia begin to kick in and squirmed, tugging at the collar of his chestplate. He did not want to be here, not in the slightest... especially, he may add, alone with Megatron.

"Indulge me, Starscream," Megatron suddenly sneered, the chill of his voice sending painful shudders through Starscream's body. "Would you?"

The request was impassively demanding. Starscream drifted a little further away from the warlord as he moved, suddenly frightened that he might reach back and snag his little wrists. The distance he placed between them was just enough to remain out of arm's length, but not quite extensive to the point Megatron would clearly recognize his attempts to escape.

The odd pair tread down lengthy corridors until they came to a high-rise cavern. A soft, purple glow emanated from within. Upon their arrival, they discovered the source; a holographic display court, lined with all sorts of active equipment, monitor screens still open. Starscream's wings dropped almost as far as his spark.

"What?" He forced a stale bit of incredulous disbelief in his tone. "I—I thought I told them to clear out this place! Honestly, I have no idea h—"

Megatron raised a servo, knitting his optic ridges in disgust.

"This equipment is still warm," he mused dangerously. Starscream's wings rotated in a nervous circular motion. "How intriguing. According to the report you filed, this mine has been cleared and abandoned for seven years."

"And I made no mistake, my lord," he insisted. Megatron's optics fell over him, locking him in a stasis-like panic. "It... clearly, there must have been some sort of mistake..." A desperate pause. "Actually, I do believe Soundwave had something to do with it."

"Soundwave."

"Yes, my liege."

Megatron started walking towards the nearest wall. Starscream swallowed his fear and followed post-haste.

Treading with firm, even footfalls, Megatron found himself lingering by the rock face, focusing upon its structure with a hardened glare. His faceplate was firm, accenting the dark rings under his optics.

Starscream detected his silently brewing fury, skirting around him accordingly as he moved past. "But, in all fairness... we... all had to assume... additional responsibilities during your... ah... 'interstellar travels.'"

A huff.

"Clearly, mistakes were made."

The light of Megatron's optics shed harsh red beams with every little adjustment in his wandering glare. Starscream felt his sparkbeat sputter when the glow lingered over him, only to feel the sensation worsen as they left.

"Clearly." Megatron turned to the rock wall. His demeanor seemed nothing out of the ordinary, and harbored the same flourish it always did; at least, not until he swerved on his pedes and plunged into the solid rock, locking his grip on something hidden deep within, obscured from the prying eye. Starscream had time enough only to gasp and recoil. Megatron returned with something large and crystalline in his servo; a full bloom of energon, pure and uncut, shimmering boldly in all its glory. Starscream could hardly move.

"Every last trace of energon extracted?!"

Starscream quickly escaped the formidable clutches of his shadow, bathed in a soft light from above. "Lord Megatron, I can explain!"

Megatron held the crystal structure up as though displaying it for an audience. His faceplate was twisted into something frightful, a chilling expression of loathing; the kind Starscream could only associate with the enemy, a static figure Megatron clearly despised with every piece of his being. He had become the enemy.

"Explain what?!" Snapped the warlord. "That you've been hoarding a supply of energon for your personal use?!?"

The solid energon fell to the ground, echoing down massive corridors with a heavy sound of impact. Starscream jumped as the vibrations spiked at his pedes, backing away once he made the disheartened observation that Megatron was slowly approaching him.

"Th—it isn't what it looks like, sire! Honestly, I can explain—"

"Do not take me for a fool, Starscream!"

With every step Megatron took, Starscream placed two backward. His optics constantly drifted, here and there, and then back again, but never once did Megatron's stray. He was trapped, both beneath solid rock walls and thick fibers of unspoken boundary. The interlude between his words was extensive, and, as Starscream could deduce, intentional. Why Megatron craved rebuttal he did not know. The only sound that escaped Starscream was a soft whine of bitter pleading, which went by the warlord without any second thought.

"I was wise to your transgressions from the beginning," he crooned. The movement of his servos was distracting. He followed them with the tilt of his helm, but still refused to waver his glare. "Not only did you pluck the dark energon from my chest, in a failed attempt to snuff my spark..." A servo touched the area over his insignia, which, he felt, still ached; not with the pain of removal, but the sweet brush of Starscream's digits, the kind which swiftly grew sour once his sinister intent was realized. One moment of tantalizing closeness, a longing fantasy turned into his worst nightmare. It was all he got, and perhaps, all he would ever get. "But!" He swung his servo back, wiping the thought from his processor. The pain did not subside. "You tried to raise your own undead warrior with it! It's not secret that you lost an arm in the process, which you've since had replaced."

They both turned down to look at the shiny new limb, which Starscream wore with a sizeable humility (it was quite humbling to linger on for far too long, and served an eternal reminder of the brief leadership he once possessed). Starscream shied in the opposite direction, hiding the appendage as it grew warmer beneath him.

"Y-you know about that?!" He squeaked.

The warlord's advance became suddenly grave. His pedsteps echoed up and down rock walls, broadening in width and posture. Starscream could not escape Megatron's extended presence and instead danced around the ring of his luminescent optics.

"Soundwave is quite competent at surveillance," he said, leaning down so he was within an arm's length of Starscream; "I can assure you."

The two danced around each other with utmost precision. The elegant sweeps were more on Starscream, however, for Megatron's pedes were far too large to sustain any position for very long.

"The fact is, Starscream, despite your treachery..."

It took no time at all to settle on an acceptable excuse.

"I've allowed you to carry on this long because... I took a certain delight in following your—how shall I put it—'string of failures.'" Starscream's optics flew up and down with each motion of his massive servo, flinching back as he feared an outburst; never once did it land on Megatron himself. He feared that meeting the warlord's gaze would have a medusa-like effect on him, only with the threat of stone being physical punishment. "But you've finally become tiresome. Predictable!" He said this like Starscream's slowly fading effort offended him. Starscream was not quite sure how it happened, but within mere moments he was on the blunt receiving end of a loaded cannon, swallowed by the pulsating white light.

"You've hit rock bottom."

A choked cry of despair escaped the trembling mech as he fell to the floor, immediately hunching his shoulders. The wings on his back fluttered violently with each sway. "Master, please!" He cried. "Give me one more chance... I beg of you!"

Megatron's expression did not change. The cannon on his arm moved as Starscream did, trained on his small, vulnerable form as it was doubled onto all fours. "You have ceased to be of use to me, Starscream. So, you shall simply... cease to be."

The cannon almost touched Starscream's faceplate. He put his servos up defensively, refusing to cease the pleading whine of his engines. Megatron's speech was so flawless and formulaic... he had the feeling his dear lord had been practicing for such an occasion for quite a long time.

Starscream hid his travelling stare behind an upturned servo, looking everywhere he could for an escape. Stalagmites. Stalactites. That was all he could see, and it angered him. Then his servos lingered on a drill machine, and a plan flashed in his helm—if only he could stall for long enough.

His ambitions were cut painfully short as he made the mistake of moving. Megatron cut loose a poisonous snarl and fired his weapon to maximum capacity, aiming for the terrified creature before him. He was prepared to end it all.

But...

He lifted his servo just a little too far as his aim followed Starscream, in his courages attempt to scramble away towards the nearest wall. The plasma bolt flew over Starscream's shoulder. It was not by a great enough margin to indicate that the move was intentional, but far enough away it didn't so much as graze him. Starscream let out a loud whimper as the heat surged past, touching his faceplate before he darted to safety.

He hadn't been planning for the intervention to serve a full effectiveness, and was pleasantly surprised by the result; Megatron's stray projectile soared far past the seeker and struck one of the spacious pieces of heavy machinery, which was patient in its stance. The highly explosive plasma fibers took into work immediately. Upon contact, the outer metal shell caved in on itself, and the electric surge captured in its wiry fingers a system of conductive wiring. The energon was quick to become ignited, and even quicker to explode.

The sheer force of it sent scraps of metal careening into any and all objects. One hit Megatron square on the chest. He let loose a threatening snarl and turned to Starscream, who staggered in-time with each tremor of the ground. The smaller mech was quicker to notice the new cracks that appeared on the rock below them. It was moments later that the ceiling began to cave, driving deep fissures into the walls, floor, everything. It seemed that the spreading sea of schisms was inescapable.

Megatron did not recognize his weight to be a problem until the ground beneath him gave way. He skidded back and hit his helm on the pit's jagged teeth. Perhaps he should have considered himself lucky for the position he found himself in, incapacitated by the painful fall. His vision was black and beheld none of the plunge he took.

Starscream's spark hammered with every moment he remained. This is my chance...! He could not yet process the sight he'd just been given, of Megatron being swallowed into the clutches of an angry earth; this was, perhaps, the fatal flaw that faltered him. He leapt to his pedes to take flight, changing to his alt mode with some notable difficulty. The cramped space was none too good for his wings.

He had to get out.

The urgency wasn't spoken of in words, yet somehow, it was caught by the dusty air and crumpled right before him. He was almost to the narrow entrance when something from above knocked him out of course. The pain was not quick to register in vehicle form. He let out a cry of alarm as he fell helplessly into orbit, spinning for several moments before crashing, nose-first, into the ground. He revved his engines and tried again, only to find that his flight was out of order. A fallen stalactite had struck and damaged his wing.

It was no sooner had he taken off into the air that he was struck down again. This rock was far bigger, and this time, there was no ground to fall back on. It fell away from under him, like a magician's vanishing trick. He let out a single desperate cry. His winged form hit against every open ledge, slamming to and fro like a pendulum; he knew that this was unacceptable, but could not seem to get himself out of the way in time. The gape he was descending upon was a deep ravine, at the bottom of which most certainly lie his unconscious master. The sheer relief was enough to take your breath away. Eventually, he felt himself land, belly-up, on an extensive ledge. He transformed back to bipedal for just a moment to catch his breath.

Primus! That was—

Unfortunately enough, the cave made it quite clear that she was not finished with him quite yet. A ledge from above was shattered upon impact into a sheer rock face, and the collective pile of boulders fell upon him one after the other. He screamed in bitter agony as they struck, pounding him down to the dirt. Tears stung his optics and rolled down his cheeks. He could only bear to open them again as the tremors subsided, and it felt like the cave's fury was finally spent. Every part of him hurt like the Pit itself had been thrown upon him.

Starscream hissed in pain and pushed aside several of the lighter rocks. He found a large weight on one of his wings, the one which had been damaged earlier, to be restricted. It was trapped beneath something, the identity of which he could not determine. A very large rock, maybe. He tried to pull it free and instead drew forth a sob; the motion itself was as though he'd been tearing the appendage from its socket, a pain almost unimaginable. He lay there solemnly and stared down the ledge's border, crying pitifully into the now otherwise quiet cave.

The ravine was covered in shadow and beheld none of its sure secrets. Starscream caught glimpses of machinery, all thrown around and discarded like a sparkling's playthings. He pictured the earth below like a youngling throwing a tantrum. Something all protoforms do. It did not make him smile.

He did not sense the immediate danger of his position, nor the slowly spreading fissure that aligned the ledge's face. He did not know, in the heat of the moment, at what point he would come tumbling down to the ground below. A fall which few of the hardiest mechs could ever hope to survive. This did not stop him from feeling hopeless. A caged bird, but worse; trapped, quite literally, between a rock and a hard place. As far as he knew, there was no one left alive to hear his tiny cries for help. This did not stop him from making them.

Help.

Help.

Somebody.

Please...

The only recipient was a gentle cave breeze, which carried his ghostly tune deep down into the bowels of the earth, down into the cave's very heart, to be heard by one mere soul who had yet to stir from his forceful slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in ages because of school... so... here you go
> 
> lol in case you haven't noticed I just based the better half of this chappie off an episode  
> BC I'm lazy 


	6. All is Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael and Bumblebee enjoy a moment of serenity.

Rafael found after extensive stays in the military base that he did not feel happy anywhere else, which grew from a harmless recognition to what the Autobots began to consider an unusual addiction. He was less and less willing to leave each time the opportunity arose, and often refused to abort until far into the day. This came as a great concern to his already worrisome parents, who placed him on a strict curfew and feared every hour he stayed away from home. If Raf kept up this slowly warping schedule there was a high chance he would be grounded. That would be unthinkable for multiple reasons; for starters, it would greatly damage Rafael's already receding psyche, and deprive the Autobots of a highly valuable asset. This young boy was highly attuned to Cybertronian technology. His prowess was uncanny.

Without Raf's knowledge, the Autobots would have never been able to keep up with the rapid growth of Decepticon intel. Even with their skill in the field, Soundwave's proved far superior, and left them lacking in too many areas. But Rafael was so well-adjusted to the software that he found himself enabled to keep up with, and if not go above and beyond, the multitude of advancements in Decepticon tech.

However, without any ability to obtain the official right of quartering, Optimus and the rest of his troop were forced to operate by the sway of Rafael's guardians. It proved inconvenient in more ways than one.

Like previously mentioned, Rafael really loved it in the Autobot cove. It was the only place he found that he could focus. The boy constantly romped about with his computer, a petty thing he'd upgraded with a self-invented hard drive modification and additional plug-ins. He tried his hand at many technological trials and obstacles, familiarizing himself with Cybertronian wares and whatnot. If the autonomous robotic organisms were not astonishing enough, being in this completely developed cyber-verse was almost like traversing the grounds of Cybertron itself, weaving through floating strands of cybernetic matter and diving deep within an expansive rust sea. With headphones in, Raf could lose himself to the feeling for hours on end.

Rafael was not the most social of children. He still felt awkward around Miko and Jack, who acted so much older than him (though they only held a few years his wiser). With the Autobots, he felt welcome, and far more appreciated. Even though they were most frequently busied and hadn't the time to pay much attention to him at all. Something about them was just comforting to experience, and left him with a good feeling in his gut. Human interaction never quite did it for him.

He and Bumblebee shared something in common, being two of the youngest on the team. Though Bumblebee differed from him by a couple millennia, the bond still remained. His yellow companion spoke no words, yet they understood one another better than they did themselves, and, whenever Raf was not preoccupied by his explorations, spoke lengthily about each and every topic they might come across in their thoughts. It formed between them quite the desirable friendship.

Today was one of those rare days when Raf and his Autobot buddy could be alone. Miko, Jack, Bulkhead and Arcee were all out to see some band performance while Decepticon activity was at a lull. Ratchet was in the other room, and Optimus busy conducting his usual affairs with important government officials. The base was left almost entirely to their fancy.

The television played from across the room, though it was unoccupied and only served as white noise in the background. Raf clicked around the Cyberverse while Bumblebee settled himself with a datapad, occasionally whirring incredulously at some unusual development. Rafael appreciated his dramatic interpretation of everything that never mattered. From his complaint, Raf could conclude that he was reading something political.

Occasionally, he might chime in with an indifferent "sure is, Bee." His focus lie primarily in the fluttering movement of Cybertronian text, analyzing it as it flew by. Cybertronian script was slightly different than that of human origin, for, the way it was written, it resembled more of a system than a form of words. You had half a second to analyze each symbol as they passed, immediately replaced by walls of new data. It was a bit of a struggle to capture at first, but after long hours spent with nothing to do but stare as it flickered, Raf soon became an expert in the craft.

Bumblebee did not think much about how unhealthy Rafael's obsession with Cybertronian company could be. He just felt happy to have a friend. The scout wanted to be there for his little buddy, through whatever thicks and thins that may arise... with such an arrangement, he could hang out with Raf forever! It seemed nice as an idea. But they would probably annoy each other to death before even half a lifetime passed. Bumblebee was comfortable enough with the young boy that he did not notice his faults, and the level at which he had lost his ability to function when returning to the outside world. He trusted Raf to be a normal boy. He trusted that Raf knew exactly what he was doing.

For now, the two friends had nothing to worry about. Settled about with their own things, there was little to concern over but trivial manners, such as the occasional computer lag or an outrageous scientific fact. The tranquility was something you could wear like a stylish new hat. It was just so real.

And all was well.


	7. Six Feet Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some secrets that should stay buried...

Megatron awoke to the sensation of pressure crushing his chest, flattening him into a hardly acceptable, somewhat Decepticon-shaped smear. He pumped his powerful shoulders and groaned against the strain of it. With one quick twist of his chassis he was able to find himself face-up, squinting against the fuzzy scene around him. Dust and rock bits filled his ventilation shaft.

This far down into the earth's belly, it was next to impossible to discern anything, especially not while buried beneath perhaps a ton of rock matter. The weak glow of his optics flickered with all its might, but only managed to illuminate about half a foot past his faceplate before fading into the unknown. When he reached forward, his digits met a small crevice, which was a good sign. At least the barrier of earth that topped him was not endless.

He wedged his servo between two rocks and started to haul them aside, widening the gap that hung mere inches from his face. Once it was broad enough, he shoved a second servo inside it and threw the two boulders aside entirely, bursting up out of the suffocating prison and heaving a loud growl. Echoes of his engines' snarls bounded frivolously down an endless ravine, eventually choked by the unsettled cave air.

He was met by silence.

Great. An exasperated sigh pushed out his lips as he stood, and he flinched when a sharp stab of pain intercepted his middle. He was not in quite the pleasant mood. What had started as a bad day quickly plummeted to one of utter loathsomeness; first the execution of a backwater excuse for a plan, then the horrid sabotage... now the pain, both of impact and abandonment, and isolation to top it all off. Like icing on a cake of misery.

He fired up his plasma cannon, just to have a better light amid the weighty darkness. It cast a beam of blue and purple across the ground, dancing back and forth as gossamer strands of light energy swirled between the thick walls of his gun. He stared down at his pedes and scanned the area around him, using the dull light to map his surroundings. He thought of radar in the brief moment that he swiveled, much like a loosely hinged dish. A towering rock face rested several feet in front of him.

He looked up to where the earthen wall continued, amazed to spot just a flicker of light high above his helm. He thought every notion of sunlight had been swallowed as the cavern collapsed. This could mean there was still a way to the entrance, he calculated, that would not take an entire excavation team to clear; this probably meant that Starscream hadn't thought to plug up the cave to eliminate any evidence, or just believed that he hadn't the need. A sneer distorted his faceplate at the thought.

It will take more than that pathetic attempt to eliminate me, you little pest!

None of today had gone according to plan. But, at the very least, he was still online, as the sputtering of his engines could attest. The Pit could wait to claim his sickened spark.

Megatron fired up his engines and transformed, sides aching as two misplaced gears scraped painfully together within him. He hung several feet above the ground, testing his calibration and making sure each one of his thrusters was even. His HUD booted up and flashed several verifications his way, ensuring he did not take off with a bad engine or unstable reserves. The blinking lights all voiced a cheerful affirmation.

It was awkward for a ship his size to ascend such a narrow divide, and he nearly took off his right wing doing so. But he managed several feet into the air, which grew to several yards; he had to move cautiously, knowing that raising his speed levels too far could result in serious damage. His belly brushed the nearest wall from time to time.

He did not hear the whimpering at first, but soon it became inexcusable. Megatron choked his thrusters and hung, nose-up, in the stale air for a few moments, trying to locate a source. It was odd, to say the least, that such a sound was to be heard in this place... he wondered whatever the occasion may be. It was when he recognized Starscream's tone did he stop.

The seeker was quiet. Very quiet. He'd lost his voice after wailing for so long, and now could muster little above a ragged sob. That was quieted even further by a blanket of dust that carried over the ravine. Megatron's thrusters offered a weak glow, and he used that to work his way around, turning to render the entire area with his optic sensors. He continued to rise as he searched, until he caught in his vision a pair of luminescent red orbs. Starscream had fallen silent moments before when the rumble of engines reached his audials.

Starscream was half buried beneath a large drill machine. The object was upturned and still active, occasionally stirring as its useless tank treads spun in desperate circles. Half of Starscream's torso and his entire left wing were trapped beneath the machine.

"Lord Megatron!" the mech gasped, squirming beneath his hefty metal prison. An expression of pain flitted across his dully illuminated faceplate. "Y-you're alive!"

The warlord hovered over the rocky platform and transformed, landing just beside the unlucky mech. He could feel the flat rock start to slide beneath his pedes; not enough to fully give way, but enough to alert Megatron of the definite peril. He steadied himself and lowered his icy stare to Starscream's shadowed silhouette.

"Thank Primus you're here," Starscream said. His voice was seeping with gratitude. "I–I was just coming back to save you, and... and the cave nearly collapsed on top of me!"

A doubtful ridge was raised over Megatron's optic. Starscream could nearly see the last of his hopes disintegrating into a pile of ashes.

"Master, please forgive me! I'm telling the truth!"

"I thought I would have to hunt you down to finish the job," Megatron sneered. "How pleasantly surprising it is to know I won't have the need. This forsaken cave will make even shorter work of you."

"M-my lord!" the seeker said shrilly. "You can't mean to leave me here!"

It was evident by Megatron's cool expression that he'd made the wrong move. "Please, give me another chance! I beg of you!"

"Enough!" The warlord snarled, turning his helm abruptly to the side. "I've wasted all my pity."

"Please! I'll do anything!"

The warlord's steady optics flickered.

"Anything!" Starscream trailed off into a wail. Megatron dug his claws into his palms, feeling the earth shift beneath his pedes again.

"Alright, alright!" Megatron roared between Starscream's heavy sobs. "If it will cease your infernal racket."

"Oh, thank you, master!" Starscream choked on his own relief. He continued to wriggle and squirm as the warlord approached, kneeling to find a place he could shove his claws between.

Ah. Megatron buried his servo in a tiny gap between Starscream and the massive object. This was just around the open roofed cockpit, and was only made visible by the emanation of violet light from a digital control panel. It bounced off Megatron's split claws.

The seeker cringed and tilted his helm back as he felt the weight slowly rising, pressing into different sections of his vulnerable body before coming off him entirely. He cut out a pained whine and let his optics fall before Megatron, who was straining with the might he had to free his tiny seeker; the gears in his arms visibly strained with each foot the machine was lifted, and he could spot the pronounced cables aligning Megatron's neck bulging. Starsceam's figure was met by piercing agony as he tried to move the wounded side, finding himself locked in a temporary paralysis while the shock of pain rendered him numb. Whimpers succeeded his frail attempt to reinstate himself.

To the alarm of both warlord and his lieutenant, a forceful sound of splitting rock suddenly interjected. The ground pitched and groaned beneath them, slowly tipping towards an inevitable demise. Panic rose like a flurry within Starscream. He gave out a violent trill from his engines, a noise of pure terror. Megatron nearly dropped the machine back on him, but managed to throw it a suitable distance, where it collided with an adjacent cliff face and further fueled the violent tremors. Starscream was himself petrified and gave a shriek of alarm as the ground mere inches from Megatron's pedes broke apart in a swiftly spreading fissure.

"M-MEGATRON!"

The rock was turning fast. Within moments it had crumbled away and was steeply angled, ready to plummet to the ground at any moment...

Again, Megatron was stuck at a dilemma. An impossible snap judgement. He swooped down like a bird of prey and captured Starscream's tiny wrist, mere moments before the jutting ledge descended down to pitch darkness; the seeker dangled and cried, scrambling with the tread of his pedes to haul himself back onto the surface, fearful that Megatron was not done with him yet and that he might decide instead to dispose of him while he remained flightless. The warlord yanked him out from the clutches of certain death and hauled him to safer ground, stumbling back as the shock buzzed to his legs and threw him to one knee. Starscream was a blubbering mess and lay in tears, one arm still imprisoned between Megatron's.

"You useless oaf!" The warlord roared, now that the echo of falling boulders was no longer unbearable. "I can't believe how many times I've saved your aft from being eradicated only to have you endanger me to such an extent! You're worthless!"

"Please, forgive me! My liege!" Starscream howled. His servos came together as Megatron lashed forward, grabbing him and hauling his limp body onto his knees. Megatron wrestled the seeker quite dishonorably to the ground, paying minimal attention as he pleaded for mercy.

"I've had enough of you, you nonredeemable scoundrel!"

"Master! I—"

In one moment, the two mechs were separated by a foot or two of broiling angst, which both tied them together and held them apart. Megatron's servo was clenched around Starscream's collar. The other was cemented to his helm. Something must of occurred in that brief hesitance, that blur of a second that flitted by faster than even half a blink, for the very next, both mechs were glued together by the waist, and lips; the distance between them shattered, in the remains of which existed nothing but the embrace, which pulled Megatron to the ground and Starscream into a kiss he had hardly anticipated. Their anger and woe came off as violent scrambling, which dissolved into exhaust, and passion...

And the two mechs remained entangled, spreading only the occasional whimper, satisfied as they lay between each other and kissed with no reserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! To help you get in the spirit, I thought this long-awaited update (I wish) would serve an acceptable gift to such a pleasant audience. I hope you enjoy!


	8. According to Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raindrop, drop top, I was just lip-locked with Megatron.  
> ...But please don't tell?

"Watch it, you big oaf!"

Breakdown hardly flinched as the poison was thrown his way, pausing over Starscream's wing while the patient shifted away and sneered a tasteless sneer. He was so accustomed to venom at this point that it barely phased him. When coming from the right mechs, of course. While acid may burn through an umbrella, you can still dilute it; say you clashed it with a handful of water, and instead of tearing through, it slithered down, falling as a puddle to the ground. You may still get your pedes wet, but no longer will you risk having your umbrella defense torn, or yourself startled. Starscream's acid was weak. While in high concentration such a substance may nip at your skin, a shower alone was a joke.

Knockout herded himself to the other side of the room, where he rearranged things. He did this constantly. Call it the habit of a perpetual fidgeter, if you would. He seemed intent on using any method (no matter how mundane) to prolong his downtime, and to keep out of doing labor. As he saw it, work was only acceptable if the gesture was intended to keep you out of doing work. Breakdown did not argue against his bizarre ideals.

"H-hey! I said—"

"Quit squirming, wouldja? I'm trying to get your wing back into place!"

The little mech was definitely worse for wear. To tell the truth, Breakdown was a bit surprised to see Starscream carrying out so well. The wounds appeared dire at even a distance, but Starscream was distracted. It was like the pain was lost on him. It was amusing to entertain the fancy of something so unusual as this... a diversion so effective it could draw Starscream away from prioritizing his sorry self. Knockout, if at all engaged, might appreciate a wholesome rumor. He had been acting a bit off lately.

"Primes, what did you do to yourself?" Breakdown said incredulously. He spotted another scuff mark on Starscream's lower thigh, the origins of which ineffable. Though it was hard to explain, there seemed something peculiar about those injuries, when varied to the ones pertained via impact. While the abrasion on his wing spanned wide, and was clearly rock-shaped... the little imperfections that pocked his side were most certainly not. They seemed precise. Intentional.

Too perfect to be rock...

Too broad to be sword...

Too narrow to be fist, or cannon...

And not severe enough to be lash marks.

But what else could it possibly be?

"Breakdown!"

Ah, yes. It was unwise to linger on the strange dents for very long. Staring at them did not reveal any new information. That and the position he was in was also sort of awkward. He backed up and bit his glossa, swallowing the taste of displeasure. Starscream's faceplate was tinged blue with blush.

The seeker could see a question in his optic, and registered its purpose immediately. But he'd taken a pact for the sake of his own dignity. Out of sight, out of mind.

Even thinking about it made him feel ill. Megatron and his smoldering optics... Megatron and his stone hard grip...

Megatron, and his servos on his waist... hips...

A buzz of electricity shot up through him, and he nearly kicked Breakdown as a response to the false alarm. It took a few moments for Breakdown to regain trust enough to have him resume.

That's right. Don't ask any questions.

He could constantly spot it inside the assistant, bubbling like a thick broth. The intrigue. If Breakdown did not know any better, or was a bit more cocky around his superiors, he would not have been so quick to let it die. His processor was racing.

But he was in no place to make the query, and would realize that as he continued to mull about in complete perplexity... until he finally lost all will together, pursuing a case that was as good as dead. A question with no willing answers could remain unsolvable for all eternity as far as Starscream knew.

Megatron's lie about the issue was flawless and impregnable. "Starscream and I went out to inspect an abandoned mine," he'd say. "The cave turned out unstable and collapsed on top of us."

He left out all the details that made their run significant. Megatron gave no hints of the secret intention he carried to eradicate his second-in-command. More importantly, no information ever came up about a kiss... or any other non-protocol acts that may have been exchanged. Nobody would ever be the wiser.

None, perhaps, excluding Soundwave.

But you already knew about that.

Breakdown finally decided he was proud of his patch job. Starscream wove the wing in and out of different positions. It was as good as new.

"Try not to strain it too much for a few days," the medic assistant advised. Knockout chimed in with his unnecessary verification. "It's still a bit soft."

"I'll handle it," Starscream growled. He was about to say a begrudging thanks before he caught Knockout's optics, which flashed with an irritating smugness. "Lousy klutz."

Breakdown waved him goodbye and started to clean up his mess. Now that he was out of earshot, Knockout started to ramble about Starscream's nuisance, which, though Breakdown was too tired to respond to, he appreciated for the attention alone.

How unusual. What in the Pit could have happened that caused Starscream to act so strangely?

 

\---

 

Starscream was apprehensive about speaking with or even being in the same room as Lord Megatron. Though apprehensive seems a bit of an understatement. Perhaps "absolutely terrified" is more befitting. And it was true; he could not remember another time in his life where his spark raced so quickly, pounding desperately against the walls of his chest, so loud you could hear it standing next to him. His cold sweats had never been colder. His trembling was so severe that things would fall around him, only due to the shock of vibrations transferred from his pedes to the ground.

Starscream wanted to leave the memory of that entire day behind.

Why couldn't Megatron grant him this simple wish?

Every time they made eye contact (which, as Starscream saw it, was far too often), the seeker felt as though he might dissolve into a puddle. He could always see Megatron's optics in his mind's eye as they raced across his form. Ravenously. Like an animal about his prey. Phantom pains of claws around his chassis would reappear whenever Megatron was around. Starscream could not watch him talk anymore, not without staring at his lips, and the flick of his glossa, understanding with every inch of his spark exactly what it felt like to smooch his most regal excellence. And replaying that memory, over and over...

Megatron just wouldn't leave his mind. Body, more like it.

Primus, this was difficult.

His fatal misstep came among the presence of a watchful Blitzwing. One look was all it took. A bare flicker of a moment passed, all before Starscream could understand what could have conspired; he watched, still buried beneath mounds of confusion, as Blitzwing's somber optics disappeared, and it was there in their following that he saw the image of his own contorted face.

Fear.

There was fear in his absent stare.

A look inherent of depravity, the residual of all his brittle barriers.

Blitzwing excused himself with a flourish.

He couldn't have figured it out at just a glance, Starscream tried to tell himself. He let out panicked vents. There's no way he could possibly know... or he ever will.

But that knowing smirk was unmistakable. 

Blitzwing was definitely an odd mech. I'd only trust him about as far as I can throw him... which, in hindsight, wasn't very far. If at all. Perhaps this was all just a ruse. A game intended to rile him up and pique his suspicion. Could that really serve an acceptable explanation? It was all a bit difficult to swallow, but he still had bigger fish to fry.

Much bigger, hungrier fish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2017! What better way to celebrate than me using fancy words to look smart?


	9. Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Megatron takes an interest in particularly alluring things.

Blitzwing paced several inches from the spot where Soundwave worked. His lip was curled back in an expression of deep thought. Since the day some time ago that he'd caught a glimpse of Starscream's wary underbelly, exposed in a moment of uncertainty, he could do nothing but ponder... whatever could he have witnessed to leave him in such a state? What about a routine check could be so deeply scarring?

Was Megatron even aware?

Speaking of Megatron, the sound of his pedes was inescapable. The warlord was weighty, part of which he could assume was armor and the other a mass of sinews. This foreboding approach could find dread and horror in the deepest pit of any mech, a metronome of impending doom which only ever left the fibers of your mindscape when you lost yourself to the insanity.

But that's probably just me. If Blitzwing had to take a guess, he'd say Soundwave didn't even acknowledge Megatron's presence.

And Soundwave sees everything.

In a blink, the warlord was bent over Soundwave's keyboard, pressing heavy palms into the worn edges. Blitzwing felt himself grow woozy. Could a needle sharp stare tear through his plates? A wedge was being driven, into the crease before his chest... prying his cockpit to pieces, poisoning his spark. And then Soundwave looked away.

"Have you had any luck locating the child?"

Child.

It was a word of human origin. Equivalent to a protoform. It sounded like broken glass in Megatron's denta. 

Soundwave pulled up tab after tab with strange words and pictures Blitzwing could not understand. Megatron even less. A few words in Decepticon scripture highlighted collages of different imagery. Where human words could not be translated, they appeared in their native script, so out of place amidst elegant Decepticon glyphs. Many were in English. Back when he'd first acquired the software, Blitzwing, in a moment of confusion, mistakenly downloaded German to his linguistic database, in substitute for the indigenous tongue. This led, inevitably, to a variety of curious misunderstandings between himself and the other Decepticons, all of whom adopted standard English. He was forced to learn it to communicate. Though he found he preferred German much more, and liked the little ticks it added to boring words. The result was a confusing accent and the grammatical expertise of a lazy digital aged teen. This made words he saw like "approximately" and "residence" difficult to understand.

"A human child?" he asked. Megatron did not turn to him as he spoke. He wondered what business Megatron would have with a fleshling. "Oh... you must mean ze Autobot pests?"

Soundwave pointed to an image on the screen. "That's not right," the warlord immediately snapped, lowering his frightful sneer.

Not right. Blitzwing cocked his helm to see a picture of one of the humans, a boy with crow black hair, run to the other side of the screen before disappearing entirely. Blitzwing remembered him vaguely as a figure of interest during inauguration.

"Vat is wrong vif zat human, my lord?" Blitzwing queried. He could see the mech's defined jaw tighten. "Even to an Autobots, zey are all ze same..."

"Not all of them," Megatron rumbled. "While either one of the Autobot pets would suffice if I was trying to strike a bargain, I have nothing to gain from the other two. I've learned everything I can from the boy, and the girl is too naive. But that youngling..." 

Soundwave's helm bobbed vigorously up and down. Megatron acknowledged this gesture.

"There's something different about that one. Something special. That thing gives the Autobots some sort of leverage, and I want to know how."

"Leverage?" Blitzwing's face switched again, and he burst into a bold fit of laughter. "Zat is funny, my lord!"

The look of grave solemnity and malice on Megatron's face was frightening. He lost the grin.

"Mm... vat strange powers does zis human hold, I ponder..." Blitzwing sang.  
He heard Megatron utter a quick "that's the one," and pointed to an image of a young boy, only just in his teens. There was nothing special about him, not really. Maybe his unusual hair, a bold fashion statement if he ever did see one, but that was an afterthought. He was not dangerous, and there was no glimmer in his dull eyes to indicate anything remotely suspicious about him. The word ordinary came to mind. It was one Blitzwing had only just mastered. He stared long and hard at the smiling boy... and felt more and more underwhelmed.

"Zis is it?" he practically exclaimed. "Zis is ze special boy?"

"This is the scout's human pet, correct?" Megatron asked. "So he's likely to be with the scout." 

Soundwave gestured to the screen, an indifferent proposal.

"Excellent." Megatron spoke as he was exiting the room. "I want you to get a lock on the Autobot's signal when he comes in-range. Monitor his routine and find out when you can catch him at his most vulnerable point. I expect excellent results from you, Soundwave."

And then the door was shut.

Blitzwing looked to Soundwave, and Soundwave back to him. Knowing Soundwave, he'd probably already done all those things. But he had time to kill.

Just thinking about those invisible optics on him as he left made Blitzwing feel queasy...

 

\---

 

I'm drowning. I need air. The burning in Starscream's ventilation shaft was far too severe. He was choked by scents and sensation. A Cybertronian could not die from such a cause, and were capable of living long spans without regular intake of oxygen. But the rush of it all clogged his senses, reverting him to a state of primal panic; he emerged, gasping futilely for his breath, hoarding greedy gulps while condescending vents wetted his bare faceplate. The spark of touch against him painted a portrait of little nicks along his cheek. He was doomed to be pulled back under. Megatron held him like a snake coils around its prey, stealing the life from him one intimate brush at a time. The exhilaration Starscream received only weakened him.

No. I'm not drowning. Starscream almost wished he was. Megatron was ravenous and unrelenting. He was about as uncoordinated as his aim. With deep, harsh embraces, it was clear the warlord had no care for standards, only satisfaction. His servos were the only thing keeping Starscream anchored to the ground.

Starscream thought the first encounter would be the end of it. Sure, it was unexpected, and maybe even a little bit fun while it lasted (at the same time that it damaged Starscream's dignity, it also gave him an odd sense of pride), this was one of the few things the seeker could agree was better left untouched. As much as a good rumor or mystery excited him. He thought Megatron was done with him, and missed the idea of normality. He even tried to convince himself that it was all some lucid fever dream.

But this was no dream.

"How far do you dare to take this?" Starscream hissed bitterly as his chin was forced to the side. A shudder passed through him at the tender touch that followed.

"As far as it takes." Megatron pressed him roughly into the wall, straining his wings and summoning a hiss. 

"G-get off of me!" Starscream demanded. His voice cracked and fell flat.

He was immediately silenced, yearning shamefully into their embrace, exchanging heated sounds and vents.

"Wh-what is this?" Starscream whined airily, growing warm at the servo down his thigh. 

"My payment."

"Payment?"

Megatron kissed the seeker's nape, and he nearly fell off his pedes.

"You owe me this much."

"Sick slagger."

Megatron fastened him there. "Don't breath a word about this to anyone."

"What if I do?"

"I cancel the exchange of payment, and we go back to handling things traditionally."

"Fair enough."

"You're a lucky mech, Starscream," he sneered. "I've never offered such treatment before."

"I feel so special."

Special.


	10. Unfavorable Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Up until today, Knockout was very fond of all sorts of attention.

Breakdown was a do-no-harm sort of individual, which did not mean well for his association with the Decepticons. Whereas Knockout was fascinated with the inner mechanics of the Cybertronian body (in some odd, sadistically sexual way) and used the job as a segue to cause more harm, Breakdown's interest in the field was far less recreational. He cared an awful lot about mechs who didn't care back. Megatron often thought this was suspicious, and periodically considered the possibility that he might branch off and betray his home faction; but he was a good worker, and generally spiteful of the Autobots, so that concern did not blossom into fruition.

As a spark who hadn't done much well in his life, Knockout was often confounded by the kindness Breakdown exhibited. The klutzy new recruit trusted easily. He also had very low self esteem. He was currently the youngest Decepticon on board their Nemesis (not regarding Vehicons), with Knockout tailing only a close second. To Knockout, who used innuendos like a second language, it was child's play to lure this mech into his servos... both literally and figuratively. He was twice as willing and three times as fit as a slave of the same age, and altogether, far more satisfying.

Admittedly, Knockout was only interested, at first, in keeping the mech as an item of entertainment. He was handy for cleaning up messes. He was flexible and could work until his back broke. If it was at the expense of Knockout's attention, he'd probably work even more. But time passed, and, like a candy that tastes mildly of bitter citrus, the mech grew sweeter over time.

And Knockout found himself growing unintentionally fond of him.

Some of the whining his Vehicon patients had to endure came from genuine remorse to his busied partner's absence. He shouldn't have to go around doing everyone else's jobs. Not when he could, and should, be doing Knockout...'s work. Awestruck company was far better than none. Still mulling around bitterly, Knockout let the last of his morning patients go and sat on a medberth, while waves of calm and tranquility settled over the room. Silence was somewhat eerie, but a familiarity. Knockout revered and spited solemnity.

His peaceful state was interrupted when the door flew open, practically snapping at its brittle hinges. Knockout jumped a few feet into the air. "Primus fragging damnit, does anyone in this wretched ship knock?!" he roared in exasperation, hitting his fist on the wall. His tone and courage faded when he came face to screen with a patient Soundwave.

"Ah! I wasn't expecting... you..." the medic stammered. "You know, I recommended setting up appointments instead of dropping in unexpected like this, like everyone... but... I guess you can't really make... appointments..."

He trailed off awkwardly. Soundwave hung in the doorframe, virtually immobile. He wasn't even venting out loud. Is that something he can even do?

"I thought you got a new interpreter. Megatron assigned you Blitzwing..." 

No response. He was starting to get uneasy.

"Uh... would you like something?"

Something about Soundwave's posture as he approached came off as threatening. Maybe it was the lack of expression that plagued him. Knockout slipped off the berth and stood at attention.

Soundwave poised over him pretentiously. This close, Knockout could hear the little clicks and whirrs of gears spinning, which he didn't think he'd ever noticed before. They had a different pitch and warble than Breakdown's, and were far louder. Maybe it was the lack of other noise that amplified it. 

Standing beneath him, Knockout was struck by an inexcusable feeling of dread. It was like a barrage of tiny needles piercing him from all angles. Each one carried a poisonous venom, indicting a state of panic akin to the rush of adrenaline you feel while plunging to an imminent demise. That single jolt of terror...

But the actual pain was far worse.

Knockout stumbled backward over the medberth that awaited him. His optics widened in horror. He pressed the palm of his servo to the stinging welt on his faceplate, horrified to realize it was damp. He hadn't even noticed Soundwave's incredible reflex before the menace had produced his blade-wielding tentacle arm. His lips contorted into a grimace. Knockout followed the gash with his digits. Any larger and it would have pierced his optic, he realized sickeningly.  
Snarling, a poor decision made in an attempt to appear formidable, the trembling medic tried to push himself back up onto his pedes, referring extensively to his vast library of vulgar apparatus. The cracks in Knockout's voice did not solidify that intent. "What in the Pit are you doing?!" he demanded, shaking with rage. Though his generally solid approach to the issue showed promise, a glint from Soundwave's knife-wielding probe was all it took to dissolve Knockout's unwarranted courage. He started to scramble away as the mech climbed over the only barrier that separated them.

"I–I didn't mean that thing about the appointments!" Knockout wailed, catching the tang of his own energon as it puddled in his mouth. "Honest!"

The second strike came without warning. It bludgeoned into his side and sent him sprawling across the floor. He shrieked in fear and pain as it became apparent that Soundwave's knife was still embedded in his flank. Knockout found there was no time to yank it free and instead focused on trying to escape the rapidly approaching enemy. It was to no avail.

A grasper probe dug into Knockout's ped, dragging him back and slicing into his ankle. He choked out a terrified sob. Soundwave held him and slammed him into the wall like he was a particularly frustrating rag doll. Knockout crumpled pitifully upon impact, crying and screaming like a depraved protoform. You'd think that, with the amount of noise he was making, somebody might make an effort to assist. But there's a lot you can get away with behind closed doors.

A lot of mechs probably wouldn't care what ill will befell the medic, anyway... and that was perhaps the most terrifying part of it all.

"What do you want?!" he wailed, composition crumbling. Knockout couldn't remember feeling pain of this magnitude. Not now. Not ever. Even as he experienced it, the agony was unreal. Megatron's outbursts were limited, as it seemed, to external infliction, which barely even stung when you observed it in hindsight. He was all threat and no action. Soundwave's wrath was something else entirely. 

As if the question were a pompous challenge, Soundwave retaliated with twice the ferocity. Knockout was almost dismayed to find himself stabbed in the shoulder and not his spark. This went on, over and over, drilling a diagonal hole into his chestplate. And then it was all over.

He looked up to see Soundwave staring down at him. There were flecks of blue on his unimpressionable screen. Tears wetted Knockout's optics, catching in the smudges of thick, soupy energon that wetted his faceplate. He was too stunned to muster any words. Nothing above a whimper or whine left him.

Soundwave's screen flickered to life, and Knockout let out a soft wail. The mech held a blade to his neck until he shut up.

I WAS LENIENT TODAY. The menacing text flashed across his digital face. AND FOR NOW, I WILL LEAVE YOU ALIVE. Knockout clamped his denta together to prevent a sound from leaving his lips. BUT IF I FIND OUT YOU'VE TOLD ANYONE ABOUT OUR LITTLE ENCOUNTER...

Knockout didn't need the communication expert's confirmation to know what would become of him if he refused. A vigorous nod shook his helm.

Just like that, Soundwave was gone. The medic laid in a streaky puddle of his own fluid until his well-awaited company finally arrived.

 

\---

 

Breakdown returned to an absolute gorefest, which is no way to cultivate your roaring appetite after a long day of heavy labor. The energon cubes he was carrying fell right to the floor. Tables were overturned, and medical tools strewn about the room. There were streaks of energon on the floor, walls... everything. He didn't even spot Knockout at first, not while he was hidden in a fetal position. The sickened Breakdown immediately rushed over and knelt at his medic's side, aware of his otherwise indistinguishable weeping.

The gash on Knockout's faceplate covered the better half of his cheek. It leaked quite profusely. There was also an impact wound on his helm that oozed energon. Though this was all frightening to observe, the enormous hole in his chest was the most severe. Knockout could hardly even cling to him without slipping and falling into a state of near unconsciousness.

Neither mech could utter a single word. None were needed.

"Kn-Knockout..." Breakdown choked through his own surprise.

The medic was forced to stay true to his word and did little more that night but cry into the assistant's solid chest.


	11. Good, Bad and the Obscure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blitzwing's been making lots of new friends here.

It was difficult for Blitzwing to connect with anyone aboard the Nemesis. This wasn't all that surprising. He was a misfit mercenary with a spark and mind prone to wander, darting constantly  
from one value to the next. Unreliable was much of an overstatement. While every Decepticon functioned (arguably) on some platform of insanity, the extent of Blitzwing's madness made him especially unwelcome. A clash of conflicting personalities was none too favorable among the "natives," as he respectfully called them.

But then again, he could still relate in body and soul with two others. Even if this company was overtly hostile and there was no friendliness to be had between the three of them.

Airachnid was an outcast among outcasts. The reason in itself was a fresh slice of irony. The femme was considered unanimously under the consensus that she was "too sadistic." Poetically, it made all the sense in the world. The perfect Decepticon was not perfect. As sparkless, devout and wretched as she was, nobody, not even Megatron, could relate to her on any level at all, not enough to accept her as a member of his ranks. That was why a promotion was unlikely, if not impossible for her to obtain. She spited everyone; but her loathing lied especially with those who slacked in their positions. In her mind, the job was a blessing, and nothing to be taken for granted. Even Megatron settled himself into this category on more than one occasion.

The other mech was Soundwave. But you probably already knew that. 

Blitzwing did not regard the silent menace as much of a friend. After Soundwave took him under his wing, he could feel nothing but nausea and great anxiety when basking in his presence. Maybe it was because Blitzwing already knew about the dark secrets Soundwave harbored. It was in more of a preliminary sense, but still terrifying. It was quite difficult to avoid him, now that he had been all but tethered to the frighteningly sedative personality.

He didn't talk to Knockout much anymore. Breakdown even less. There was still an unspoken tension that lingered between the lot of them, and kept them at a respectable distance. Knockout was even quieter than could usually be said as of late. 

Spending time with Airachnid and Soundwave did have its benefits. Blitzwing got a personal look into the more secretive side of the Decepticons, and almost completely unrestricted access to the underlying dark net that lashed them in place. Intel was Soundwave's second language. The sheer amount of cameras that scrutinized their every move, Blitzwing realized, were far more abundant than he originally anticipated. Watching security footage from places he would never expect to be monitored was enough to give him shivers.

Though he knew not all were content with Megatron's rule, it still came as a surprise when Blitzwing realized how many attempts to snuff the forward leader were launched almost daily. It seemed like everyone had their beef with the warlord, and Soundwave's omniscient presence caught it all. When asked why he didn't do anything to stop those attempts, Soundwave never answered. Perhaps his intention was not as pure as he once thought. 

Airachnid and Soundwave were very stand-offish sort of partners. They corresponded together, but only when it came to someone's benefit. They'd make cryptic deals and bargains for strange items and meaningful data switches. But they never really seemed to get along. For as long as he'd known the femme Airachnid, Blitzwing always thought her strong, cunning and malefic. But she paled against Soundwave's brilliance. If there was anyone Blitzwing could imagine might resist Soundwave's controlling presence, and even challenge him, it would have been Airachnid. Her unease only emphasized the real threat Soundwave possessed.

Blitzwing even got his first look at the fabled dark energon chamber. This truly intrigued him.

The room was wide and circular, revolving around a single glass unit, alighted by a pallid purple glow. It pulsed and spun as though composed of a true living essence. Otherwise, the room was completely dark. The highly sensitive substance was kept under controlled light and temperature for the entirety of its shelf life. Even sound and movement in the room was restricted. Looking down at it, so tiny and pathetic as it sat in its enclosure, it was difficult to imagine that this tiny crystal caused the delivery of thousands of deaths. It was hard to even imagine this substance to be consumable.

This shard's size was quite unimpressive compared to the dull fragment that once buried itself in Megatron's chest. That one had long since lost its power and coloration. The shell was all that remained, resembling a hunk of smoky quarts. It took that energon's spending to bring the rare substance's longevity into realistic perspective, and led to the close monitor of whatever scrap remained.

At first, Blitzwing wondered how any stupid mech could ever be compelled to ingest such a substance. But after spending time with the crystal, he soon found himself recognizing a change of spark. Dark Energon was alluring. It hummed with dark and deadly potential, the kind that sizzled on your digits. He could feel that much even when separated by thick walls of glass. Blitzwing understood, in a stranger sense, what drove Megatron to spend hours confined by the walls of that dark and forsaken chamber, staring intently into the hypnotic violet light. He really couldn't look away.

Airachnid had gambled with the concept of dark energon, but turned it down in favor of her own twisted route. She wagered that using the super-drug was far too risky for someone such as herself. Clearly, Airachnid did not feel the same dire attraction, in which case Blitzwing was envious. He envied her for a lot of reasons. Confidence, reluctant closeness with Soundwave... though neither of them enjoyed that sort of company, Blitzwing craved knowing and information. Soundwave was a living supercomputer, and the best source you could have.

But Blitzwing was still only an errand boy. Soon, he pledged. Soon, Soundwave will know of my value, and he will tell me everything. 

But for now, he could keep watching over the troops as they rested in their barracks.

In patient silence.


	12. Misery Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream's had just about enough.

Scum is a word to describe the filmy layer of algae and grime that collects at the surface of a pond, and adequately so. It clouds the crystalline depths of a pleasant spectacle with patches of thick and soupy residue, which no pleasant spectator can enjoy in the least. For those with a passion towards the kind and beautiful aspect of natural organic landscape, it isn't really good for anything but getting in the way of your view; and, if someone happened to fill a bucket's worth with it and dump it on your head as you were nominated to stand on a stage to receive an award of valid prestige, it could very well ruin you and your entire career, too. 

To Starscream, Megatron was a lot like pond scum.

As he leaned against the arm of Megatron's throne, servos folded dutifully over the span of his chest, Starscream thought of many vulgar words that could appropriately describe the pitiless warlord, with "scum" probably being the least of them. If he was not so afraid he would have shouted them all to the world right there and then. Megatron was a mech he favored less than a sore on his wing, and he really hated those. No matter where you were, what it was you might be doing, or what time of day it happened to be, Megatron was always there, and always being a particularly unpleasant obstacle for the mech and his aspirations of greatness. He'd been a negative figure in Starscream's life far before the unwarranted seizure of his decency and wellbeing.

As it happened, Megatron pined for Starscream at the most ungodly hours of unexpected days, and no real pattern was ever executed to outline his lustful interventions. That made it impossible for Starscream to "prepare." Just when he thought it was safe to release and escape the nagging tension, of which he hated perhaps most of all, Megatron was pulling him into a secluded area and they were back at it again. It was only enjoyable in the spur of the moment; after that, he felt infuriated. Dissatisfied with himself and that pathetic waste, wishing to all the thirteen Primes that he wasn't so vulnerable. 

The tainted energon exchanged hands from Starscream to his lounging master, who let his servo linger on the seeker's digits just long enough to send a disgusted shudder down his stiffened strut. Disgraceful slagger. It relieved the small mech to think of what harm would befall him after he ingested the poison. Though Starscream's schemes were prone to disappoint, it was impossible to disregard the rush of giddy presentiment, and all the delusions of grandeur that followed. After so many endeavors, this ought to be the one that finally succeeds... right?

After all, this was the most powerful toxin he could find. He just hoped it was deadly enough to subdue the warlord.

Starscream sank back against the solid throne's steady arm with a sour expression. This was all to hide his growing smirk, which only broadened as he listened to the mech downing his morsel. Eat up, you gluttonous imbecile. You'll be dead by tomorrow morning.

The brew took into effect quite quickly. Megatron slumped off of his throne with an indecipherable mumble on his lips, clutching the frame for support. His claws dug into the dull, pock-marked metal and contorted it between violently trembling digits. Starscream hovered on the edge of his space, arms folded behind his back, the better half of a celebratory grin plastered on his face.

"Megatron, you look ill... are you feeling well?" he purred.

Megatron growled and snapped his denta. The seeker fluttered away instinctively. "Starscream..." The pangs of his voice, slurred together on one long string of mellifluous harmony, laced to form something of a drunk mech's banter... which Starscream hoped was only a temporary effect. Megatron swerved on his pedes and grabbed the flimsy mech for support, clutching him firmly in one wide palm. Starscream cried out in immediate shock and wriggled uselessly against him.

There was a flash of confusion in the warlord's optics. He did not understand by what means he'd been intoxicated, dwelling in the murky haze of his uncertain present. Colors and shadows fused together and leaked collectively down a canvas of swirling gray. But the sharpness of Starscream's optics drew everything back into focus, and put a ground beneath his pedes. Though he could still hardly see the rest of him. Megatron grabbed at the seeker's body to make sure he was there, still in a physical state, and not only a wisp of something long forgotten.

Starscream yelped and squealed in a useless protest, not at all satisfied anymore. The inebriated Megatron showed no signs of dropping dead anytime soon. He was suddenly whisked off his pedes by the firm ruler, who handled him like putty in his particularly large, strong servos. Starscream was not very fond of being squeezed and groped or anything like that. He was fragile. "Let me down!" he demanded as the mech unintentionally jammed his shoulder into a doorway, shoving Starscream against the corner wall and venting heavily against his faceplate.

Megatron was not usually well oriented, and had trouble standing on anything any narrower than his two enormous pedes, but this was just sad. The hilariously impressive fumbles on his part were clearly intentional, all a part of his strategy to form a precise visual image of the seeker's slim body where his cloudy optics failed him. Starscream gasped and seethed and swatted his servos from where they didn't belong. He pursed his lips tight in fear there might still be poison on the warlord's glossa, which was just as rude and imposing as the rest of him. The disgraceful mech continued to parade about with Starscream displayed like a trophy. He winced every time a spire or something struck his free, momentous wings. 

"Put me down!" Starscream spat through gritted denta. A shiver coursed through him as Megatron silenced his words with a kiss, consequently draining the breath out of him. He still refused to part his lips. Squirming and kicking, Starscream did not relent even as Megatron yanked him to his quarters, holding him outside the door and fitting him into the narrow frame. Even when it became apparent that the struggle was futile and he might as well throw away his last ounce of dignity. Starscream twisted and let out a series of pleading whines, an attempt at reason, only to be shot down by ineligible expressions of denial.

Megatron's living quarters were becoming reluctantly familiar to Starscream's database. It was a varying construct of simplicity and chaotic masterpiece, artistic in the carefree way it represented its renter. Starscream resented Megatron, and resented his abode; due in part for the accuracy in which it represented the warlord, and also because bad memories tend to stick to their origin. This place was the Pit, disguised by a couple datapads worth of monologue and an outlook that opened into the clouds.

The covers folded around him protectively as he was set on the berth This was a flimsy and futile barrier. Even Megatron seemed unsure of himself, and fondled him most delicately. Starscream was definitely not appreciative of that. The warlord kissed his jaw and he cut loose a threatening snarl, gasping for a quick vent, knowing the air he breathed belonged explicitly to the mech he hated and loathing every fresh taste. He would rather be drowned in a puddle of acid. He would rather be submerged in tubs of oil and set ablaze. Anything, literally anything, would be a better substitute than being stuck here, trapped beneath this hungry slagger, all for the bargain of his very beating spark. It sickened Starscream to his core.

What the seeker did next was an action executed under the lust of rage and fury. His common sense wasn't entirely present, so the sheer absurdity and thoughtlessness of his rash execution can be forgiven.

As the warlord moved his grasp to Starscream's waist, the slighter mech finally had enough and lashed out, slamming his digits into Megatron's vulnerable spinal strut. One claw went in, and then two; and suddenly, his servos balled into fists, and he was peeling massive handfuls of plating right off of Megatron's very self. What started as a few flecks of energon on his faceplate escalated to a gush of blue liquid splattering his chest and drenching his sides. A cry exited Megatron's lips. It was a cry of bitter agony, alarm, and sadness. Starscream felt his arms being slammed into the berth and the realization of what he'd done finally hit him... and it was far more damaging than the wave of blue fluid that surged from a shoreline of wrath and decorated his face. Unavoidable terror sank in and he burst into a fit of wild tears.

He was trapped. And alone. And helpless to Megatron's fancy. Karma was a bittersweet glitch.

Starscream sobbed and tossed his helm to the side. Stinging tears cascaded down his faceplate. He expected Megatron to claw him back. To beat him senseless. To prove to him that he would always be weak, and always obsolete. To remind him what terrible, unspeakable horror befell overconfident slaves.

But that moment never came. 

The soft way he whispered hurt more than any infliction.


	13. Terrible Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we have to hide things to protect the ones we love.

As if departing from your sweet, comfortable bed in the early morning wasn't difficult enough, there are plenty more things in this world that can make exiting peaceful slumber a real chore. Pain is probably the most unpleasant thing to wake up to... well, that or a hangover. Fortunately enough for Megatron (who was eternally favored by the fates) he got to experience both of those creative disturbances simultaneously, mashed together into one unbelievably rude awakening just for him. What a treat. 

The stinging broke through his unconsciousness first. His thick, stone-hard ligaments were taut and rubbed raw. They'd been exposed when Starscream unleashed his spat of wrath. Once they had been protected and contained by formidably thick armored plates; now, they were open and vulnerable, freely subject to the horrors of infection and other terrible things. Dried energon caked his arms and back in a grisly fashion.

Starscream was huddled in his grasp, so close Megatron could hear the beat of his spark (even in his muddled state). It was soothing to feel the mech's stir this clearly. Even with rancid energon stuck to his legs and waist, Starscream smelled tantalizingly good, of faint flora and a cold metal musk. Megatron cupped the seeker's servos in his own.

It was hardly even dawn outside. This was actually better for him, Megatron decided. There wouldn't be many comprehensible mechs awake at this hour. He could make it to the medbay and have Breakdown repair him before any damage was noticed. Rumors were the last thing he needed right now.

Megatron rubbed his pounding temple and pushed himself up off the invitingly splayed seeker. One of his palms folded around the perfect edge of Starscream's right wing. He hated to see such a beautiful component doused in curdled energon and fouled so unceremoniously. Unable to deny temptation, the warlord vented slowly and stroked it, fascinated by the way in which it jumped and fluttered to meet his palm. Starscream muttered sleepily under his delicate breath.

Megatron removed his digits as Starscream began to stir. A flicker of red light danced behind the seeker's fluttering lids. With a slow vent, both the seeker and his master locked optics, temporarily paralyzed by the unintentional surreality of their union. There was something so strange about it, something even Megatron struggled to understand. He wrestled away all of his wild thoughts, in hopes of minimizing potential distraction; the buzz of his guilt was so violent it stuffed his audials full of useless white noise, muffling the environment around him and making proper engagement impossible. His personal soundproof barrier was finally penetrated by the vibrations of his own voice, which also erased the glossy finish on Starscream's fantastically expressive optics.

"I see you're awake."

Starscream's entire body flushed with glowing heat. Megatron could feel the radiant inflammation on his waist and thigh, but the most prevalent burning occupied his servos, which laid on the seeker's curved upper waist. His faceplate was blue enough to fog the flash of his red optics. This was not an embarrassed blush, or an angry one, but a blush of anxious anticipation and woe. Energon streaks on Megatron's chest only heightened the worry feeling in his gut.

"M-master..."

"I bet you think you're awfully clever," the warlord sneered, impertinently silencing his unfinished plea. "Drugging my energon. That's new. Whenever did you think of that?" 

"I..."

"I'm so sorry your brilliant plan backfired like this. It's a real shame." He stretched his shoulders and snarled as a shot of pain knitted through his back. "But even when I was at my most vulnerable, the odds still remained out of your favor. Funny, isn't it?"

Megatron bared his denta, which glittered like deadly diamonds in the pale blue moonlight. His entire room was covered in a cascading sea of tranquil nightfall, pouring in from the massive hexagonal windows that occupied the right wall of his quarters. Starscream flinched away in fear, bearing a painful grimace on his narrow faceplate. He looked so fragile there, arms raised in a useless gesture of defense, energon smearing his soft, vulnerable protoform. A twitch spread all the way through Megatron's jaw.

Starscream shrank back with the warding touch of Megatron's servo. He awaited something, like the sting of a palm against his cheek or the gut-wrenching feeling of being lifted into the air before he was thrown against a wall... but none of that ever came. Megatron moved his filthy mits up and down the seeker's faceplate, tickling a masterfully crafted jaw. Starscream squirmed for a moment but was soon subdued by the soothing motion, and let out an undignified feline purr.

"You aren't going to be able to get away with this forever, my sweet," the warlord sneered. His tone of voice was even harder to swallow than his act, which burned the back of Starscream's throat and made his optics water, leaving a distinct bitter taste on his limp, immobile glossa. He hated the brush of Megatron's sly digits on his faceplate and came to the unarguable conclusion that even a thrashing would be better than this. Anything would be better than this. 

"Yes... m-m-master..." Ugh. The word alone made him want to purge the remnants of his last meal.

Megatron's smile looked more like a grimace, and was about as natural as a plastic fern in the bleached white snow. Starscream could catch the unease just by looking at him. He was trying to hide something. It seems like everyone on this slag heap of a warship has got some terrible secret nowadays, the seeker thought to himself. He scrambled away into the berthroom cover's comfortable arms as the weight was alleviated, and Megatron was standing up again on his own two pedes. The warlord stretched, and Starscream could trace every motion of every chiseled sinew in his muscular spinal strut, all rippling with the grace of a cool, clear stream in a cheerful personal glade. 

Megatron turned to him with a scowl on his face and said, quite gravely;

"This is your last warning."

He left the room and his confused partner in a moment where all time stood still.


	14. Blitzwing's Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blitzwing never misses his mark.

The rolling orange cliffs of a Jasper, Nevada country road were like an endless sea that stretched out far beyond the horizon. Impressive under the sparkle of midday, when captured in golden sunsets they became the thrones of gods. Rafael understood this better than anyone. The boy and his companion drove alone across the winding Nevada sea, cutting fountains of rock like butter, listening intently to the rapidly approaching evening as it presented them with new songs. Coyotes barked and howled melodious tunes, joined by the drone of thousands of crickets, a complete symphony finished by hawk cries and Bumblebee's roaring engines. If he was not so busy wading in a pool of his own collective mindfulness, Rafael might have dozed, for his day was a particularly eventful one and the world around them was peaceful at this time. The road beheld few bumps or schisms to interrupt their journey, only the occasional pebble that might have offset their trajectory for half a second. Raf didn't even have to shield his eyes to behold the lazily draped dusk sunlight.

"Do you drive here often?" the wondering boy asked.

His automated car's driverless wheel turned to the right, which steered them down a gentle meander. A wave of dust leapt up and slid its grainy tongue across Bumblebee's polished yellow door.

:Not anymore,: the Autobot said. A downward descent in his pitch eluded to what could be any number of unfavorable memories. 

"That's a shame. Why not?"

There was no intelligible answer from the yellow Camaro. Raf decided not to bother him with so many questions and laid back in his seat, giving Bumblebee the liberty to resume his journey to their cryptic destination in hopeful silence.

Track of time was lost before they finally reached the end of their unpaved dirt road, whirling onto a ledge that stood over a massive depression, the kind that hollowed the earth like the indent of a giant fist. Such a scene was strangely unnatural and gave the entire area a ghostly look. Rafael realized after he stepped out of the car and onto the solid outcrop that this was the skeleton of an energon mine.

Bumblebee transformed before his eyes and walked to the very edge of the steep pit. He kneeled and lowered his helm respectfully, which came off as quite a confusing statement to the oblivious onlooker. It was only after the Autobot rose to his pedes that Rafael suddenly recalled the incident Bumblebee's comrades constantly told to him, in honor of their fallen brethren and his fate. He wasn't sure what is was that clued him in, but he recognized this place's true identity almost instantly. It was a grave.

"I'm so sorry..." Rafael sympathized with the hulking metal figure as he rose. Bumblebee whirred sadly to his response. "Were you to close?"

To his surprise, the Autobot was quick to shook his helm. :Not really,: he admitted. :Cliffjumper... was never really close to anyone in Team Prime. Excluding Arcee, I don't think any of us really... talked to him often.:

Raf was completely dumbfounded. This was nothing like what the other Autobots had told him. An honorable fallen comrade, a personality, a spark they would never forget... viewed aside Bumblebee's nonchalance, it all just seemed so artificial. It also made him realize how little the others had done to individualize Cliffjumper, and to give him the personality he was so regularly idolized for. Who was this mech? Was he really the selfless, courageous action hero all those whimsically tall tales pressured him to be? 

Bumblebee didn't see how much the little quip affected Rafael's state and gazed off into the sprawling ocean of a sunlit sky. :It's pretty,: he said. Raf admired the way dunes of settling orange luminescence spewed like puddles of melted glass down gapes and fissures in the sculpted landscape. The way light refracted through his glasses lens turned it into something more surreal, a Wonderlandian wasteland from his most lucid fever dreams. He could almost see the glowing hot liquid as it spilled over and coated the land in light yellow ooze.

They admired the placid landscape for some time longer, as sunset started fading into dusk and the distant howls of wild dogs grew louder and nearer. Raf paid his final quiet respects to the dearly departed Cliffjumper and hopped inside Bumblebee's inviting cabbie.

 

\---

 

It is difficult to mistake the sound of chopper blades approaching from somewhere in the distance. No matter how modern or stealthy the model, in a place like this, where the quietest of chirps and nature's cries were deafening, it was impossible not to be drawn by the unwelcome disturbance. Raf was kind of annoyed. He'd been on the seventy-second verse and counting of his natural orchestra's melody. This outside force broke his concentration and usurped the steady beat he'd arranged, ultimately ruining the song and its continuity. What kind of jerk do you have to be, he wondered, to foul such a peaceful place with your manmade distractions? (Bumblebee's engines were quieter when he willed them to be, not as ugly-sounding, and actually added rhythmic depth to the song)

His Autobot friend showed no concern, so the boy assumed their visitor was some sort of government official. This didn't make his interjection any less rude, of course, but at least provided that security of knowing.

But the sound just kept getting closer.

As the unbearable noise's volume rose to what must have been an unsafe level of decibels, Raf plugged his ears and wondered who in their right mind could be piloting this thing. Even Bumblebee was getting a little uneasy and appeared almost frightened of the flying object. He must think it's gonna hit him, Raf thought. Someone ought to teach this guy how to fly a helicopter.

The worst came when the duo was nearing a bend. A deafening sound of crunching metal suddenly attacked Raf's vulnerable eardrums. The vibrations sent him sprawling with the seat when it was thrown out of balance, spinning out of control as Bumblebee's wheels tried desperately to gain traction as they skidded across the dirt road. The helicopter had flown straight into them and ordered them spiraling off course. Shivers went flying up and down the boy's spine when the demonic roar of manic laughter interrupted Bumblebee's frantic whines.

The bright yellow Autobot transformed and slid backward on his pedes. He caught Rafael in his servos, almost completely unharmed. The boy could see only fragments of the action through his shattered spectacles.

Now that they were both grounded, Raf could less-than-clearly see that the vehicle who had attacked them was not actually a vehicle at all, unsurprisingly. The beige Decepticon shifted modes and stared at Bumblebee with the most insane, malevolent smile. It was nothing but a jagged red crescent moon plastered atop an impressionless black mask. He moved with much more grace than his alternate helicopter alias.

The two robots moved in a flurry of motion, though Bumblebee's quick swerves were geared on the defensive. He was horrified to think of what might happen if he let the Decepticon attacker strike a blow too close to his closed fists...

Rafael was startled by the sheets of light that occasionally broke through indents in Bumblebee's enclosed digits. It was unbearably stuffy in his metal prison, but he felt much safer inside than out. Even when his carrier stumbled and he was thrown about into every which wall. 

Blitzwing's ped connected with Bumblebee's chest and made a loud CRACK! sound. The momentum exchanged hands and sent Bumblebee flying. This almost cracked Raf's skull open. Bumblebee hit the ground, pinned as he was just about to rise back up to his pedes.

"How entertaining!" Blitzwing cackled. "You've put up such a valiant fight. They grow up so fast!"

The Autobot squirmed and whimpered, kicking his legs in a blatant refusal of his victory. Rafael's vision was swimming with dark spots and every nerve-ending in his body was numb with endless pain, so he didn't realize he was leaving possession of one Cybertronian and entering another until it was far too late.

Blitzwing had what he'd come for, so he left the weakened Autobot to cough on his dust.


	15. Lament of the Caged Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakdown has an important job to do...

In popular literature light is symbolic of wisdom, purity, and comfort. It is sweet and affectionate, though simultaneously pure and redemptive, like the innocence of a child. It's supposed to be a sign of goodness and positivity. The light Rafael awoke to, however, was none of those things, and was instead cruel, diabolical. Sterile like the strobes of a hospital bed, it stirred him from his comatose, seeping through the cracks of his lids, sealed shut by a layer of mucus and evaporated sweat. He could feel a dampness on the back of his head where it had split.

"Is it still alive? I don't think it's still alive..."

"It's breathing, you idiot!" a second voice snarled.

Rafael felt heavy, like he was covered in dumbbells. He couldn't quite spread consciousness to his arms.

"I didn't know it was supposed to... wait, I think it's awake."

"Good Primus slagging damn it, Knockout, you think?"

The glow from above was so potent opening his eyes didn't make any perceptive difference. Every sound Raf heard echoed like a drumbeat, producing constant thrums in his vulnerable ears. His hair and scalp were matted with blood.

Knockout bent down to tap the glass pod, but was slapped away by Starscream. "Heeey," the medic whined. From his spot on the containment floor, Raf could feel resounding tremors all around him, rattling his cracked ribs and jelly bones. 

"Are you daft? Keep your grubby mits off the subject!"

"I wanted to see if it was going to move..."

Raf gave up trying to sit and just laid there, wallowing in his misery. He could barely turn his head enough to avoid being blinded by the unrelenting glare above. What are they going to do to me? Panic fluttered in his heart as his weary mind drifted to Bumblebee, and where that wretched Decepticon scum might have left him. If there was even enough of him to be left. He could not imagine what he would do if the kind scout had been eliminated trying to rescue him.

"Out of my way," a firm third voice boomed. Knockout scuttled away as directed, and Starscream the same, although remaining at Megatron's beck and call if he was needed. "This is the one we want, Soundwave... correct?"

From out of eyeshot, the mute mech nodded.

"Excellent." Megatron's towering figure was incomprehensible by the span of Raf's blurry eyes. His voice was terrifyingly cool. "Breakdown?"

The medbay was not a very spacious room to begin with, even moreso when crammed with Decepticons. The medic assistant had his shoulders squeezed together to prevent brushing against anyone. He responded tightly when summoned.

"Yessir?"

"You and Soundwave can go to the lab and hook this human up to our containment unit. I will be entrusting you to keep an optic on it and maintain it at all costs."

Breakdown realized this promise would take off from his medbay time and faltered. Nonetheless, he refused to deny the order, and looked to Soundwave for his first instruction. The mute mech demanded he took the pod, which he did, moving past and shrinking while Megatron started to leave, flicking a claw for Starscream to join him. "I will return to survey the human's condition later," he said, a warning to what would happen if he slacked. Neither mech had that intention.

Rafael's jaw was sore after being smashed against the capsule floor. He groaned and rolled onto his side, forced there by the angular momentum. Raf viewed himself like a wadded up tissue at the bottom of a travel bag. Every part of his bruised body ached and screamed for retribution, but no avail was ever found, and he wished for death in a way no fourteen year old boy ever should. Out of nowhere his face collided with the capsule wall, and blood spurted uncontrollably out of an all but broken nose. Raf could handle a little abuse, but this was just too much. He wheezed under the agony of fractured ribs and hauled himself into a sitting position. Tired and sore, he pressed his palms against the glass that surrounded him, looking through the thick pane to see a Decepticon he was not well acquainted with.

Even though Raf doubted anyone outside could hear him, he still said; "What are you going to do to me?"

Breakdown was quiet for a moment. The boy thought his assumption true until he responded.

"You're going to a lab," he said gruffly. "Soundwave is going to repair all your damages."

"How thoughtful." Even in massive pain, Raf could spare a sarcastic remark. Breakdown just nodded. 

"Why are you keeping me intact? Why don't you just kill me?"

"Megatron... he needs you alive." Soundwave had left the mech to attend other business, confident he could make the journey down on his own. He felt less anxious about talking to the hostage this way. "And reasonably intact."

"Sure put me through a lot of trouble."

"It's not like the Autobots would have just handed you over."

"I guess not..."

"Though I don't think the level of violence was necessary."

"Tell me about it. Everything hurts."

"Blitzwing is new. He doesn't really know how to handle humans."

"You could say that again." Talking to other people was not a skill Raf possessed, at least not willingly. He hated face to face social interaction. He resented human contact to the point forming words for him was tedious and challengingly so. But for whatever reason, this petty circle of sadistic gossip was... actually enjoyable. He could form replies much more easily with this mech. Breakdown felt the same way.

"Soundwave's pretty good operating on delicate machinery. He'll have you up and running again in no time."

"Humans and machinery aren't very similar."

"He's a pretty fast learner." The admiration in his tone was only skin deep. There was another emotion there, something negative. 

"I've seen Soundwave before," Raf said. "But I don't think I've ever seen you."

"I don't usually get around to many missions of human involvement," he admitted. "I'm not exactly the most well informed Decepticon."

"Do they not trust you?"

"Nah. They just think I'm too... too immature." The tone of his voice was thick with hesitance. "I mean, yeah, I'm involved in crucial stuff, but never really involved. You know?"

"More than you know I know."

"You're a pretty sharp kid. If I was in your position, I would've freaked."

"I'm just numb. Severe pain can do that to you. If anything, I'm stupid for refusing to act on instinct."

"It's that level of self-control a lot of mechs aeons older than you still lack. I only act on instinct, and look where that got me." He reached up and tapped the patch over his optic, which Raf hadn't noticed until just moments before.

"Oh. I'm sorry..."

"It's no big deal. Less of my ugly face to look at."

Raf laughed a little in spite of himself. Breakdown even genuinely smiled, which was something he only did around Knockout, and under very specific circumstances. 

Breakdown recognized the end of their journey had come all too soon, and was a bit shocked to see Soundwave standing there in front of the doorway, face cold and unyielding. He held out his servo to Breakdown, who was very, very reluctant to hand over his new companion. Raf didn't say a word and put all his energy into staying still as he exchanged hand... or, servo.

Soundwave's wordless instructions to the assistant were as follows: FIND TOOLS. LIST IN PING. RETURN AND I WILL BEGIN. The mech, ever obedient, only nodded and glanced down at the human one last time.

The little friendly wave he offered brightened the entire rest of poor, unappreciated Breakdown's drowsy day.


	16. Elusive Culprit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knockout seems quite upset, and a partnership is formed.

Knockout wasn't acting himself lately. Ever since the mysterious lashing, which he still refused to talk about, Breakdown noticed a lot of changes in the once bubbly personality. His original behavior still existed, but it felt... forced. He was quieter. Even if it was by only a few instances, that was a lot for the mech. He acted like a diluted version of himself, a watered-down energon substitute that never really met your expectations. 

Apart from his paranoia, which included multiple frantic glances in dark corners of every room and a fear of isolation, the medic was also a lot more desperate for attention. He was less playful towards Breakdown and more eager to have him around. Realizing he had to be separated from the assistant while he tended to the human hostage, Knockout all but burst into tears, convinced this was the doing of a horribly sadistic Soundwave, yearning for revenge to a crime Knockout never knew he'd committed. As much as the other mech promised he would keep in touch and visit often, Knockout stuck to the insistence that it wouldn't be enough. This made the fractured Breakdown feel even worse for unwillingly abandoning him.

On a day Soundwave was busy working in the lab and had banished Breakdown from the premises, the assistant instead found himself snared in Knockout's arms, tethered to the medbay alongside the lonely doctor. The two cuddled on the ground, not really up to arrange anything fancy.

"Breakdown?" The red mech whispered, pushing him down and propping his chin on the mech's awkwardly wide chest.

"Yeah...?"

"You're gonna come and visit me all the time," he said clearly. "Right?" The accusatory tone in his voice made it more of a demand than an innocent question.

"Of course!"

"I don't believe you..."

"I would never leave you! Honest!" He sat back up with a start, only to be pushed down again, and pinned there by the other mech, whose optics glinted with that old charming excitement he was known for.

"Then convince me." He bent down and kissed the mech, which silenced him. Finally.

Though the job was not permanent, it still felt like a grave goodbye. Knockout would be missing the big blue lug all throughout. Breakdown longed for him too, but at the same time, he felt it was his duty to spend equal presence with the human child, an almost platonic urge that was unexplainable to him. He could tell the boy was frightened. No amount of steady words and cleverness could hide that from him. The assistant didn't trust Soundwave to protect him. Raf was a smart kid, and not knowing anything about the silent minion terrified him. He was always the one that knew. 

Being alone more often made Knockout feel much more vulnerable, and Airachnid noticed this. She too was confounded to the fulfillment of his beating. Surprisingly enough, somebody else had gotten to him first. When mechs pointed fingers, which they didn't usually do because of a lack of interest, she was more often than not the butt of their accusations, after which she could only shrug. The style of the inflictions didn't lend effectiveness to blunt force, so it couldn't be Megatron. He was more of a crusher sort of mech, less of a slasher. He didn't like his prey to be messy. 

That drew suspicion away from Breakdown, too. While impact wounds existed, they were not as deep or impressive as a hit from the blue mech's hammer. And besides... why?

She considered Starscream, too. He despised the medic and didn't seem in a very good mood himself. His claws were sharp enough to cut through stone. But the cuts Knockout sustained were definitely shaped to a blade incision, and came from a broader weapon. Starscream was not very strong either. Knockout had clearly been thrown, and that was not something Starscream could have done.

This style was nothing she could learn from. It was something new. Or, at least, something old, something that had long since retreated to the back of her mind...

When the thought hit her, it hit her all at once, like she was being struck in her chest by the perpetrator's fist. As he smirked his knowing smirk, and laughed.

She approached Blitzwing while he was coming out of the dark energon chamber. He smiled at her, and the enthusiasm was fake, but she could care less right now. She was brimming with questions for the falsely-assumed-hapless mech. "I can't believe you," she said breathlessly, starting to laugh. 

Blitzwing blinked and stared at her, confusion dotting his optics. 

"That night... Knockout... it was all you, wasn't it?"

She expected him to smile, or something. To congratulate her for finally figuring it out. She anticipated the reward, which she was completely certain was almost upon her, and stared at him, proud of herself, for several moments longer...

And he shrugged.

Her confident face fell to the floor. For once, Blitzwing was the one to remain consistent.

"I thought it was you," he said simply.

"But... it's not possible. It has to be you!"

"I'm just as confused as you are." Blitzwing flipped on a wide red visor. "But it definitely wasn't me."

"You... you're lying," she said, shaking her helm. She'd been so sure..."

Blitzwing shrugged again. "I'm curious, too. I really did think it was you. But why question, you know? Maybe the perpetrator would rather their identity be kept a secret."

They both knew what this meant, and for the first time, Blitzwing and Airachnid found themselves agreeing on something. 

What better way to start a partnership?


	17. Eye and Mind of the Beholder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream seems to be settling well.

Starscream sat on the arm of Megatron's throne, legs crossed and digits flayed for analysis. Being small and delicate, he fitted comfortably into the elegant perch, much like a stuffed bird for trophy would sit mounted upon a pedestal. He hated that feeling. Regardless of his personal peeves, he complied with Megatron's ill fantasies, portraying himself willingly as the gem, the diamond in the rough, if only because it was what the warlord could never resist. It was not difficult to learn all his kinks and mold him to his liking.

After weeks of the same dull procedure, Starscream finally found a way to take pleasure in this sick little game. He found a way to be back in command, or, at least, to harness the illusion.

This close, Starscream could see everything about the mech in clear detail. He could read all the fine print without spectacles. It was fun to try new things and see which ones struck Megatron the most speechless, and brought out the best (and worst) in him. Starscream finally felt like he was back in control of his life.

For example, Megatron liked to be approached most assertively. He enjoyed it when the seeker showed no hesitance and was fast to pleasure him. But a tease was always welcome. He pushed on through coyness without complaint, too... which implied that it was not always the nature of the advance that mattered. All in all, setting was more important.

One day in the early evening, Megatron was reviewing software issues with a Vehicon commander when his titular second-in-command invaded the private affair. His precise pedsteps abounded through frivolous echoes. Megatron paid no initial heed, letting his attention drift to absence through the drawl of his informant. Suddenly, he felt Starscream grip his arm, and... well. He was quick to excuse himself, having to shake Starscream away from his gauntlet in order to seem like he was dealing with the situation in an appropriate manner.

"I've told you to keep the nature of our private affairs out of the public eye," Megatron scorned gravely, looking down into the optics of the sneaky bastard. Starscream's faceplate reflected an undeserved innocence within.

"I grew lonely, master," he whined, and it was strangely believable. Any doubt he must have felt was erased by the playful and promiscuous trill in the seeker's pleasantly sweet voice. Starscream then grabbed his collar, and... well, let us just say things escalated from there. It took place all in the dark corner of that easily accessible transport hallway.

Megatron shivered slightly, brimming with anticipation as the seeker pressed himself against his commander in chief, urging him towards the wall. Starscream definitely had changed, he thought as he tugged on his wings, relishing in the absconding purr that followed. He always was quick to adapt in tough situations. The attention made Megatron feel all fluttery inside, like he was stuck on a constant euphoric rise.

Starscream knew very well what that feeling could do to a mech. And he loved every second Megatron fell.

So, the seeker sat atop an arm of his throne, shooting glances at the warlord while he rested. Megatron did not usually get much time to spend with himself, he found, and, apart from the time he had been poisoned, little to recharge. He used the throne as his station to recuperate. Starscream would occasionally brush against the mech, but this got boring quickly, and he found it more convenient to stealthily wedge himself in to the cozy spot beside him. Megatron was not quick to process his advance.

Starscream loped his arms around Megatron's neck and nuzzled into his chest. He was firm, and warm. He slid himself under his master's arm and shifted into his lap.

Megatron was not uncontrollable. He pet the seeker, softly, loving the tremors he felt as he purred beside him.

He had a feeling that this deception was the closest he'd ever feel to being loved.

\---

It was late here. The moon shed dim light across a Nevada horizon. Breakdown's headlights were off, but the streetlights up ahead shone relentlessly, giving the lot a distinctly industrial atmosphere.

The warehouse was old, but sturdy. Its walls were condensed of a strong steel alloy that proved impenetrable with age. Only a little rust crept up the structure's crevices, like a woven spider web. The logo it adorned was vaguely familiar. Breakdown was not very fond of warehouses, but this one, he could deduce, was not a threat. He'd seen this place before. All it carried were decent, well-intentioned fleshies, likely working the unreasonable shift to earn for needy families. The cargo in question was usually food. Imports and outports came as frequently as the breath did to and from your lungs, or conditioning, as Breakdown knew. Hours of the day did not constrict these determined workers. In a way, he felt bad for what he was about to do.

After what felt like hours, the truck appeared, climbing towards its destination on a sun-bleached road. Breakdown backed up further into the shadow of the garage. A tarp covered the produce vessel, but he could tell it carried what he needed. It crawled and made shrill beeping noises, rolling around and around to find its destination. Breakdown emerged like a predator from his crouch.

The truck driver was preoccupied, and did not notice the gradually approaching muscle car. He could do nothing about it until it was too late, and the car's muzzle came ramming into his truck's side. Both driver and his seat were lurched with the impact. Unable to balance itself, the truck's cargo threw itself to the ground, taking the rest of the vehicle with it. Breakdown winced to himself as the human hit his dashboard and fell unconscious.

The tarp was weak and could not withstand the change in direction. It opened, and a wave of melons came spilling out onto the parking lot. Breakdown felt satisfied with himself. He transformed and knelt down to collect his hard-earned wares.

Once he was finished, and satisfied that these melons would sustain the likes of a human child, he transformed and sped off, bearing a cabbie overflowing with watermelons. He rode determinedly through the night.

Those who saw the speeding melon car that day were convinced they'd just witnessed something ethereal, something not at all belonging to this world. And they were right.


	18. Friends of Enemies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are Soundwave's plans for the captive?

Rafael's chest ached with hunger and famine. The boy did not know for how long he'd laid there, arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as lazy shadows passed before it. He'd been in and out of consciousness for the entire four days of his captivity, and after remaining under Soundwave's constant care for so long, his fractured ribs and other miscellaneous abrasions were finally mended. The heavy sedatives he was force-fed rendered him immune to most bodily pains. At this rate, he would not notice if he starved, or shriveled up from dehydration. He could only relax.

Breakdown activated the entrance keypad with a password and entered the gloomy corridor. The lab was dimly lit by two strings of faint bulbs flickering overhead. Green light filtered through empty pods on every wall. Bottles and vials and whirring machines of every sort dominated shelves, adding the drone of machinery to this eerily secluded atmosphere. How many had declined to a state of madness in this very room? Judging by all the cracked glass capsules and skewed medical cots, Breakdown could assume that number was far higher than his comfort level would allow. Will I be the next?

Raf did not look up as he entered the room. He had no time to deal with the Decepticons, as he was feeling particularly resentful that morning. He wanted to be back with Bumblebee. He needed to escape Soundwave. But when the sound of rolling fruit invaded his trance, he was forced to turn, and found himself utterly speechless to the sight before him. Breakdown was carting a massive handful of watermelons in his servos.

"I... I found you some supplement," he said, sounding proud of himself. Raf felt a little proud, too.

"These are for me?" He managed to sit up, though it sent jolts of pain through his spine. Breakdown nodded and picked up a melon between his massive digits, squishing the firm outer shell and presenting a mashy pink mess to him.

Raf took a handful of the gooey food in his palms, slurping it up ravenously. The taste of fruit was heavenly to him, and he could feel the walls of his lethargic throat softening in a sigh of relief as watery juice slid down his esophagus. Once he had taken in all the melon he could stomach, he looked up at Breakdown, who was hovering patiently to the side.

"Thank you," Raf gushed, wiping the residue from his mouth with one sleeve. He hadn't expected such an act of kindness from the sparkless bastards, not at all. But Breakdown was something special.

The blue mech smiled and rested on a cot nearest to him. "It's no problem." The way he swung his legs over the massive ledge's protruding end so casually was almost comical. Just the thought of an organism his size acting in the everyday manner of a human was something Raf doubted he could ever get used to, no matter how often he saw it while back at the base. A malefic Decepticon even moreso. In his very brief time on the warship, he'd seen two polar opposite personalities in both his guardians, differences he never noticed in the Autobots, who operated under what he realized increasingly to be a vastly similar mechanic. Soundwave, the horrifyingly intimidating and emotionless evil, was the darkness to an enthusiastic and charmingly selfless Breakdown, who shone brighter through every passing moment. He reminded him of Bulkhead, in a way, though less matured, and far more wistful. Raf related to him in ways he used to think only Bumblebee did. It was so odd. He was getting friendly with a Decepticon, his bitter enemies, and his soulless kidnappers.

Breakdown continued to bring him melons throughout that day, and into the next. He was absent that evening, though, and in his place, Rafael learned dreadfully, was Soundwave.

He hated the silent mech. Something about him just seemed so terribly off, even for a Decepticon... but he could not place it, and that bothered him most of all. He was an intuitive problem solver, yet for the whole of his captivity, he was rendered completely and utterly useless against the whim of his captors. A vulnerable and naive burden with the sole intent of sitting and looking pretty. He did not even know what the Decepticons wanted him for; he was too terrified to ask Soundwave, and Breakdown was not permitted to such important secrets. He all was alone, in the dark.

Soundwave scooped him up out of the containment pod that he slept in. The mech's spidery digits found their way around the small child's body, digging into his ribs. Rafael grasped for a handhold and struggled to make himself feel comfortable.

"Where are you taking me?" he questioned boldly. He was tired of being frightened of this mech, and was determined to convince him that he was just as, if not more, intelligent to matters he really could not understand. But Soundwave was not allowed to respond to such a query. Likewise, he did not. Raf then realized it was stupid to expect an answer and fell quiet.

The mute mech carried Raf through empty and expansive hallways, immersed by their dull hanging lights, which threw wisps of color across his desolate screen. Rafael watched for divets in the wall to pass time. But all numbers and thoughts eventually meshed into a pattern of continuous blankness, so he could not think far past three, and let his head start to droop. It is unknown how long he'd been stuck in the dreamless sleep before Soundwave woke him with a brutal strike to the head with one of those wicked claws.

Raf looked up, the traitorous nubs of new tears sparkling his eyes. AWAKEN was broadcasted clearly onto Soundwave's face. As he steadily turned to survey the area, the boy realized that he was now in the control room, which was a place he did not know, but seemed oddly familiar to him. It was not much different from the Autobot's setup. Though obviously larger, it only houses the necessities; the mother computer, a beast that towered many feet above him, which Soundwave barely capped, and controlled all the others; daughter computers to surround it, each essential to their own purpose, be it interpreting data or monitoring locale; and, on the other side of the room, a massive web of pulsating cables, omitting a steady stream of light through their framework, which he assumed was the piece that connected it all together. They ran along the walls and out into the hallway, surrounded by a metal shell, to prevent them from sustaining damage. It was a light and thin metal, but Rafael assumed it to be very strong.

The rest of the room was nothing special. It was just like the other rooms of the ship. Dark, and completely abstinent, with intricate wall patterns of blue and purple that stretched their wiry fingers up to brush across the folded ceiling. They surrounded him completely on all sides, blending across corners. There were other mechs at different computers, too, he realized; they were all Vehicons, and seemed quite invigorated in their work. It was possible they were all just drones programmed to carry out Soundwave's instruction.

Soundwave set Raf down on the edge of his keyboard, urging him to look up at the scene above him. It took a moment to adjust to the computer's glaring lights. When his eyes were strained and his vision cleared, he saw a massive jumble of codes and characters. This was a test. Rafael spoke clearly and identified them all in the quickest tongue he could muster, which impressed the mute mech beside him, who nodded and switched point-blank to a new tab. It was the same exercise. Raf finished even quicker than he had the last, having no trouble transferring from one set to the next.

The next test was a set of coordinates, arranged in an unusual fashion (one specific to Cybertron). Raf had no trouble with this, either. They cycled through newer material, puzzles for the boy to complete. He mastered them all, save a stumble on the graphic portion, which was understandably difficult for even the most fluent Cybertronian linguist to master. Soundwave silenced him when he was done with a wave of his digit.

EXCELLENT played on his screen, and in Cybertronian on the computer's. Raf felt almost proud by all he'd just accomplished. SILENCE followed the praise, which he obliged, sitting back as Soundwave started working through even more complicated statistics. Raf translated whatever he could understand to pass the time.

The boy did not know he was speaking in Cybertronian, Soundwave thought, occasionally shooting glances back his way as he worked. It could stay that way.


	19. Nature of Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take into perspective the nature of things.

The morsel sat mere inches away from his trembling digits, beckoning him with a glorious, oscillating sheen, tugging at him with thin and ghostly tendrils. Blitzwing could feel the bewitching energy oozing through every crack and crevice on his armor. His mouth watered and his chest ached at the very sight of it, reserves groaning and shaking with unparalleled craving. The glass shroud that once imprisoned the substance brushed at his knuckles. His insides screamed in both repulsion and longing, creating what some might call a bittersweet symphony, resonant of his internal turmoil and tumultuous desire. He was hardly even moments apart from sweet release. Every moment, every breath, he concurred, belonged solely to this, a build-up to when he finally united with the inscrutable annuity. Electricity surged through him, alighting his body, striking in his tubes a longing for retribution, and a release into the unfathomable...

He almost touched it. His digits were there, shaking like the Pit, and he could have sworn the ground was moving beneath his pedes.

"Blitzwing?"

Female. The voice was female. He remembered his designation after that, and then his sanity; what was left of it, anyhow, for he was not so sure. His servo recoiled as the lightning connected, and he could feel a dull pain in his arm. The mech's helm was pounding. For why, he could only guess. He hadn't been himself for a moment. Or maybe he was not himself now, but... it was all just so confusing. He fixed the emboldened grin on his faceplate to resemble an austere grimace.

Airachnid's figure was there, stationed at the door. He could spot a similar expression of perplexity about her. Her many long spider legs branched out around her, like the narrow arms of a tree, encasing her in a frightful metal web. She let her real legs hang idle as the decorative prosthesis carried her towards him.

The dome walls that surrounded them on all sides seemed closer than before. Blitzwing swallowed his fear and confusion. He could fib and say this had all transpired during a loss of conscious, as though the dark energon had taken hold of him somehow, like a puppet, and led him to this spot. He could insist that he'd only just awakened to the sound of her voice. But Airachnid could pick out lies like flies, with those deadly mandibles of hers. He'd much rather remain on her good side, or the closest substitute to that (an "I tolerate you a little" side at best).

"I wanted to see ze... ze dark energon," Blitzwing said. This was not a lie. He'd come here out of curiosity, to satisfy the dreamless nights he'd spent, trying to remember how exactly the energon glowed, what subtle flickers you could see at its heart. He'd just gotten carried away. Airachnid swooped around to his side, and he backed about with her; the two soon danced around one another, circling like predators. Like a gentleman, Blitzwing waited for her to take the first bite.

"You weren't planning on taking that... that thing, were you?"

"By ze all-spark, Airachnid! Vy would I ever do that?" His optics flickered feverishly to the unattended crystal.

"Oh, not you too."

"I swear!"

"I don't care what Megatron did, that stuff is dangerous," she hissed. "It... it does something to you."

"Aw... are you worried about me, Airachnid?"

"I'm worried that it will be harder to clean you up after your spark is extinguished," she said in a low, poisonous tone. Little needles pricked and settled upon Blitzwing's spinal strut. 

"Vot do you mean...?"

"Soundwave never showed you Megatron's 'experiment' with the Autobot Cliffjumper, did he?" The femme paused and stared him dead in the optic. "They first found this substance on earth, two years after Megatron left to explore the cosmos in search of fresh troops. When he returned, and could see the Energon for what it was..."

Blitzwing nodded, not exactly sure what he expected.

"...He plunged the crystal shard into Cliffjumper's spark."

The femme's gaze never left his own.

"Starscream had taken the mech's life long before. When the energon was introduced to his system, he sprang back into existence. Imagine that!" She smiled. "A unique grade of Energon, capable of reanimating the dead."

Blitzwing furrowed his optic ridges, not quite accepting her version of things. It sounded so theatrical, unbelievable.

"Once a mech's spark is gone, it's gone. That's the order of things. Any... any mineral with the capability to change that, to usurp the sequential law of existence, it can't be right." 

"For a femme so fascinated by ze premature extinction of alien species, you're awfully objurgating to the disruption of 'natural order.'"

"There are certain things out there that just shouldn't exist. If dark energon possesses the capacity to reinvent a dead spark, imagine what sort of effects it has on a living one." She glowered at him. "Megatron was never right under the whim of that dastardly thing."

"You speak of it as though it has feelings."

"That idea in itself isn't as far-fetched as it sounds. Can a non-living substance imitate life in a host?"

Blitzwing had to think about that one for a moment. "You're saying it could be..."

"A parasite."

The two looked at one another, governed by a harsh wave of silence. Suddenly, a smile broke across Blitzwing's face, and he started to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Airachnid demanded, taken aback by his blatant disrespect of her graveness. 

"You can't be serious about zis," he gasped. "You expect that to scare me off?"

Airachnid did not give an answer. One look at her told him she was fuming.

Blitzwing pantomimed the act of wiping a tear from his optic, a huge grin plastered on his features. "Oh... vat a good laugh," he chuckled. "I must give you credit. That's ze funniest thing I've heard all week."

Patting one of her idle legs, he started walking, leaving her alone in the chamber. She glared at him as he walked past. "I'll be in the main room if you need me," he chuckled as he was closing the door. "Oh, good joke..."

Airachnid stood there in a silent fury. The only company she had was in the form of the energon, as it attempted to console her through the fingers of its glow. Something about its presence unnerved her. 

 

\---

 

Love is not in the nature of things, Megatron thought as he lazed. So this was not love. It was a simple explanation, and he wondered why he hadn't thought of it sooner.

The throne room was dark to suit his mood. Something about the lack of light comforted him. There is no way to be disappointed in what you observe if there is nothing to see. Without light or comfort, or anything, there was no way to feel, and there was nothing to call upon those wretched emotions. He was completely isolated.

There was nothing but his damned spark to fill the gaping void. 

I am not somebody who loves, Megatron thought. Therefore there is nothing to love. Especially not Starscream. I was a fool to think I felt anything for him! I am just lonely after all that time, never having someone to call my own... as far as he was concerned, it was only because he had become a lustful creature, and Starscream just happened to catch his optic. It could have been anyone. 

But... really. Could it? He felt so drawn to the small seeker, so compelled... could it really be just desperation?

Of course it was! That made sense! None of these other things, of love, and longing... none of it made sense. His spark was just as dull as it had always been. The pangs and flutters, it was just his belly, exploiting his hunger. I am not in love with the seeker.

This is the nature of things. Not once in the law of Megatron's spark was there an option to love, or to be loved. Not once.

A popular misconception existed that Megatron and Optimus Prime had been friends, in a former life long since forgotten. They were all just stories. For his spark was as rotten as it had always been, back when he made the poor archivist fetch him things like a slave, all under a lie that they were well at spark with one another. The fool accepted his fake friendship as payment. Now he used that card to justify his actions, to call Megatron a traitor, to which the warlord thought was laughable. "Didn't our friendship mean anything to you?" He thought that was the most hilarious of all. Of course not! Why would he ever dream of such a thing? Optimus and Megatron, they, most likely, would never be on good terms with one another, and that was the order of things.

Starscream would never be anything more than a tool for his amusement.

But if this was true, why did he feel so empty?

**Author's Note:**

> Are you on the edge of your seat, begging for more? Well, too bad, my friend: I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the next update, just like everyone else. That update may come tomorrow, or it may come three months from now. Who knows?


End file.
